


Child of Magic

by EssayOfThoughts, Kiterou



Series: Son of Thanos Universe [4]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Concrit welcome!, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 85,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiterou/pseuds/Kiterou
Summary: NO UPDATE UNTIL MARCH 1ST!In which two worlds clash and mingle as Harry comes to terms with his past.-Part Three of the Series.Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor anything from Marvel.Want to know when the next update is coming? Join us here: https://discord.gg/nFnMe6QThe story usually updates every two weeks. Delays under two weeks are announced in Discord, everything longer than that'll also be announced in ANs/the summary.Current max. chapter prediction: 30.
Series: Son of Thanos Universe [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1119477
Comments: 196
Kudos: 300





	1. Pokor Lèr

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the third part of the "Son of Thanos" series - Child of Magic!  
> This chapter continues directly from the last chapter of "Son of Thanos", June 18th, 2015. For orientation: Seven Years ends on June 25th, 2015, with the Hogwarts' Express ride to Kings Cross.
> 
> A few bits of information:
> 
> All events of the Harry Potter book series are moved forward 17 years (Harry is born in 1997, Voldemort 'dies' in 1998)  
> All MCU movies previous to Age of Ultron are canon with the exception that Bruce Banner did not leave Earth on the Quinjet during AoU.
> 
> There will be absolutely no bashing. Romances are kept in the background as much as possible. Harry won't have a romance in this story as well. If a certain romance is not canon, I'll add the tag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pokor Lèr - SAODAJ'

**June 18th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Yondu was too slow.

Part of him wanted to blame the sudden, thick smoke filling the room, making him hesitate to whistle for his arrow. The glow of his red fin wasn’t enough to pierce the smokescreen, making it impossible to see more than vague silhouettes and the flashing lights of whatever weapon the strange woman was wielding. So when one of those colourful streaks headed straight for the silhouette next to Yondu, he was too slow to intercept it, although he did try to tackle Harry down.

With a scream of rage, he jumped back to his feet, lips pursed for a vengeful whistle and damn who he could hit besides that woman - but then an eerie, scarlet red mist rose, illuminating and piercing through the unnatural smoke until it dispersed completely. A loud crack whipped through the air just before the woman was exposed, and with the smoke gone Yondu saw the spot empty where she’d hidden before.

He choked on the air trapped in his lungs and released it in a shaking breath before dropping back to his knees, hands reaching out for Harry who was… actually not looking wounded. If all, the boy looked perplexed, rubbing his chest where he’d been hit before making faces at Yondu’s searching hands. The Centaurian didn’t care that he was rough in his checking and swatted Harry’s hands away when the mage tried to inch away. But there were no wounds, no holes, no blood. Only a lingering warmth tingling against Yondu’s fingers, and a very faint taste of copper on his tongue.

“Did you reflect it?” he asked as he got up on his feet, dragging Harry with him. The boy shrugged, still looking confused.

“Is he alright?” It was Rogers who asked, his voice booming through the chaotic chattering of the other people. Only then did Yondu look up and scan the room again, his eyes gliding off of Drax, who had his knives drawn, and Mantis, who was standing behind the brunette with the scarlet mist dancing around her fingers and eyes. The synthetic man was floating towards the spot where the woman had been crouching while shooting off her weapon.

Finally, at the door, he caught Peter’s eyes and scowled at him, which was enough to prompt the stupid boy to come over, worry plain on his big face. Him Yondu tolerated, shoving Harry towards Peter, but when Rogers made his way over, Yondu stood in the way, his arms folded in front of his chest.

“And what was that, huh?” he snarled, caring little about how he sounded. “Save my ass! How did that bitch get in here?”

“Yondu!” he heard Peter say, voice scolding, but the Centaurian knew damn well that the boy was just as worried as he was. This had only been the second time Harry had agreed to enter the Compound’s main building since the fight, after all. He had no time for the mage to regress again.

“She was powered,” the brunette said, voice tense as she let the scarlet mist dissipate. Only her eyes remained red. Pursing her lips, she exchanged a look with the synthetic man before turning to Rogers. “She could hold off both Vision and me - some sort of shielding, although I’m not sure if it was some kind of device. The way she left, however, was clearly a teleportation power.”

“Which explains how she got into the building in the first place,” Rogers said with a troubled look in his eyes. Shaking his head, he gave Harry one more searching look.

At least he was decent enough to look as worried as Yondu felt right now.

Turning back to the mage, who had escaped Peter’s clutches and was still rubbing his chest, Yondu took more time to watch him, searching for any hints of regression. He was never quite sure what would set Harry off - it happened less and less with the years passing by, but once the boy stopped talking, he took his damn sweet time to get his head straight again. With a measure of relief, he noticed that while Harry looked a bit pissed off, there was no hint of distress on his face.

“Lemme see again,” he said gruffly while reaching out and was pleased when Harry scowled at him, evading his hands. “Peter, hold him steady, he may hide if he’s hurt.”

Before Peter could comply (and he would’ve, Yondu wasn’t blind), the speakers in the room turned on and the female voice of the AI spoke up, with much more sentience than any AI had a right to. “Boss is calling for a meeting,” the slightly impatient sounding voice told them, with a weird twang to her voice. One of the Terrans had called it an Irish dialect, whatever that meant. “Please gather in the main conference room, guests included.”

The voice cut off. Yondu scoffed a bit, not really willing to simply comply with any orders, but the others already started moving. Harry actually gripped the sleeve of his jacket when he noticed the lack of movement of the Ravager, his eyebrows raised.

“Fuck this,” Yondu mumbled, but he followed his boys anyway. Maybe somebody could explain why there’d been a fucking intruder in the first place.

~~~

 **June 18th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Tony leaned back in his chair, fingers ghosting over the surface of the Stark Pad in his hand. The voices of the other people in the conference room, both Avengers and aliens alike, droned on, but he was only listening with one ear while the footage of the break-in was watched and dissected over and over again.

There was a memory niggling at Tony’s mind after he’d watched it the first time, and it wouldn’t let go.

Now, he wasn’t arrogant when he said he was a genius. It was the plain truth. Sometimes people would forget about it after spending some time with him - mostly, they thought it only applied to sciences and technology. But it didn’t quite work that way. His brain was _always_ working, juggling ten different concepts while holding a conversation was _easy_ for the billionaire. It took a long time for information to slip from his mind, but even for that, he’d failsafes. First, it was Jarvis and the servers the AI ran on, cataloguing the data he fed on. Now it was Friday’s job to be the extended brain of her creator.

The thought still ached, but Tony was good at ignoring these things. People called it unhealthy, but he usually didn’t care.

“... can’t be a visual disguise. Their height and weight changed as well when they dropped the identity of the cleaning staff. And notice how their clothes changed as well. It’s not like Loki though, we found the shoes they discarded and they’re almost an exact replica of Pepper’s…”

“So it’s a combination of powers? One which changes their appearance and clothing, and another to teleport? Maybe they’re connected in some ways, or they’re more versatile than we’ve yet encountered…”

Biting his lower lip, Tony glanced up, temporarily distracted from his search through old databases. He knew it was foolish to do it manually - he should set Friday on it. She’d done lots of research already, but Tony had a feeling that what he needed was on one of his private servers. Specifically, one of those only he and Jarvis had used.

Yeah, he should totally _not_ think about that right now.

“What about the weapon she had?” he added to the conversation, watching as Steve played the footage forward to what the cameras had caught in the guest quarters. Slowing down the footage, they watched the ‘woman’ activate some type of energy shield, taking two hits before releasing thick smoke from the tip of the stick-like weapon in her hand.

The thought tugged on his mind yet again. Tony huffed and shook his head as the group continued to talk about the weird weapon, if it even was one. Natasha and Clint both pointed out that it was mostly used as a defensive device. “They incapacitated Cap for like, half a minute,” the archer said before showing the short fight yet again. “The only time we don’t know how it was used was when they aimed it towards Harry.”

“Who feels unchanged,” Natasha added, and the majority of the assembled people glanced at the young man who was busy listening to Quill’s whispers, wedged between his human brother and the Yondu guy who looked like he got kicked out of the Blue Man Group.

The kid blinked as he found himself to be the centre of attention. It showed that he felt better - he wasn’t cringing away or running out of the room anymore. Hadn’t for a couple of days, after Steve had stopped giving him pitying looks.

Hell, yesterday he’d been fine enough to park the giant spaceship back at the moon. Tony would know - he’d begged to come along when Peter had told him about the plan. Which they totally had to do again.

“Anything to share with us?” he called over, ignoring both Steve’s and Yondu’s looks. Quill looked over for a moment before staring at Harry, who grimaced for a total of four seconds before sighing and shrugging. He nodded towards Gamora, who’d been listening in the whole time - the green-skinned woman gave a stern nod.

“Okay, now I’m actually curious,” Tony muttered and put the Stark Pad down.

“It’s actually nothing that should be too new for you all,” Peter said. “Just something we, personally, liked to keep a secret. It’s safer that way, but it shouldn’t be a problem here on Terra… Earth.”

“We promise we won’t spread any secrets as long as they don’t cause any dangers for the public,” Steve said, eyes as honest as always. It was in times like these that Tony really appreciated Steve’s big Goodie-Two-Shoes face - he looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and he meant it as well.

“I guess the first part is pretty safe to share. It’s not like it’s a big secret, and you’ve ties to Asgard,” Peter started, scratching his chin. “So you all should know that there’s magic out there and a tiny number of planets produce it. Like Asgard itself, right?”

For a moment the room fell into silence. Tony noticed a tenseness to some of the aliens, mostly Gamora and Yondu. Peter and Harry, however, didn’t look too stressed.

“Magic,” Wanda finally said, her accent heavy. Tony looked her way - she was called the Scarlet Witch after all. But they all knew that her powers stemmed from Loki’s Staff, and who knew how that thing operated.

“Magic,” Gamora replied, her voice serious and even. “It is exceedingly rare and highly sought after. Only a handful of planets are known where mages are born. Each and every one of them is either heavily guarded or their location is a well-kept secret itself. But the powers of mages are said to be versatile and near-endless if honed well.”

“So, are you saying you think the intruder was… what? A witch?” Tony laughed at that thought, but he couldn’t help but feel like he should remember something. “I mean, they did have a wand…”

“What’s a wand?” Rocket asked, eyeing one of the still pictures of the intruder in their female form. “The stick?”

“In some children’s stories, people who can use magic are called witches and wizards. Sometimes, they use wands or staffs made out of wood for their spells,” Clint explained, sounding highly amused. “And sure, she did have one. And after Loki, I won’t even be surprised if magic and all that was real. But you said it yourself that it’s rare. And why would some mage or whatever go after him?”

Clint nodded towards Harry who raised his eyebrows before looking at Quill, who suddenly seemed reluctant. Rocket, however, was less so.

“He’s a mage,” the racoon said without missing a beat.

“Okay. Let’s say we believe you,” Tony said, holding up a hand when some of the crew bristled at his wording. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know… able to tell if they did some Hocus Pocus?”

He watched the kid and saw some hesitation. Harry looked away, his jaws working as if he was chewing on something. Then, with a grimace, he opened his mouth before snapping it shut again. Turning sharply, he leaned towards Yondu.

The room fell silent again when the young man started whispering haltingly. It was obvious that he was forcing the words to come, and that he was still uncomfortable to do so. When he finished, he fell back into his seat, not looking at anyone.

“He…” The blue guy stopped for a moment, frowning, before trying again. “He said that what they did felt similar, but not quite like what he does. Only he doesn’t need a wand. And I’ve never seen him being so flashy about it.”

“And what can you do? Besides blowing up lights and making yourself invisible,” Clint asked Harry, keeping his voice friendly. Harry twisted his mouth a bit before kicking out at Yondu who cursed.

“Stupid shit,” the older guy said with a glare towards the now grinning Harry. “He’s never got a teacher, so most of the stuff just happened and he kept doing it until he got a hang on it. Shields that can stop projectiles, reshaping objects, levitation and all that. He once teleported Peter and me a couple of miles around, but he didn’t try again since.”

“Shields and teleporting,” Bruce repeated, looking thoughtful. “Tony, can’t we check if there was any abnormal energy output when they used their… wand?” He grimaced while using the word, which Tony could understand. Magic and wands and witches. Next, there would be flying brooms and potions, too. “We still have the data from Alberta, when those windows got shattered.”

“And lots from when Harry here went around destroying my light fixtures,” Tony agreed. He stopped short, however, his hands hovering over the table. “Friday,” he said, fast now. “Go check Server Beta Three Zero for files on a Stark Pad I personally worked on. Should be from 2012, maybe 2013.”

“Tony?” Steve said, looking confused.

“I forgot about it, totally forgot. I’m an idiot,” he mumbled, grabbing the Pad and checking what Friday was sending him. With a few flurried motions, he went through the folders popping up on his screen.

“We know that, but what did you forget?” Clint asked.

 _“This,”_ Tony hissed, bringing up a grainy picture on the screens in the table. People gasped when they saw two girls in a stone-walled room, smiling as they each held up a stick, levitating two books. “Back then, Stark Industries got a warranty issue about one of our products. A Stark Pad that didn’t function right. When Customer Service _and_ our R&D department couldn’t figure out the issue, I got interested. The customer, a girl named Granger, sent me the faulty Stark Pad and Jar- we found traces of some kind of non-harmful radiation on it. So we made an alloy that repelled it, coated the whole thing and sent it back. I forgot about it afterwards, but…”

He gestured towards the picture. “Thought it was some silly picture manipulation.”

“Do you mean,” Quill said, staring at the two girls. “That there are… mages here? On Earth?”

“You mean more than the one breaking into our Compound?” Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Could’ve been someone who’d followed us,” Rocket replied, scratching his chin. “Terra’s such a backwater planet, never thought it could be magical.”

“It’s bullshit,” Quill said with more heat in his voice. “Impossible. I never heard of real magic here. Wouldn’t they be known?”

“We can’t exclude the possibility, Peter. Which makes this a far bigger concern for all of us.” Gamora looked pointedly around until all eyes were on her. “It needs to be checked, but I suggest keeping this as a secret. As I said earlier, magical worlds are more than just rare. If word came out that Terra produces mages, half the galaxy and others would come to seek profit from it. You might be on Asgardian territory, which protects you to some degree, but it might not be enough to protect you from reapers.”

“Reapers?” Steve echoed, but he wasn’t the only one. Even Tony had stopped typing on his pad, staring at the green-skinned woman.

“I told you what both Harry and I went through,” she said in a clipped voice. “It shouldn’t be hard to guess why Harry was chosen.”

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Tony shook his head, standing up. “All the more reason to see if it’s actually the case. Bruce, Harry, Rocket - let’s go to the lab and see if our data checks out. You in for a bit of testing?” The last words were directed towards Harry, who nodded, face a bit pale.

Both Quill and Yondu stood up as well, but Tony didn’t pay them any mind. He did notice, however, the way Gamora instantly grabbed Quill’s arm to pull him back.

“I’m going to inform you the moment we have some results,” Tony said to Steve who nodded once. “Until then, nothing we talked about is leaving this room except the lab.”

And with that, Tony and his entourage left the conference room, leaving anxious and confused people behind.

~~~

 **June 18th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Friday doesn’t know how to… well. ‘Feel’ wouldn’t be the right word, but she didn’t know a good alternative. It was simply odd, to sift through previously unattended servers - private ones her Boss owned.

To find the footprints of her precursor.

She couldn’t help but be impressed by what J.A.R.V.I.S. had done. She’d yet to reach the same sophisticated state - wasn’t sure if Boss even ever meant for her to become like J.A.R.V.I.S. in that way. There were small but impactful differences between Friday and J.A.R.V.I.S. and sorting through Server Beta Three Zero only brought it home once more. The way Boss and J.A.R.V.I.S. had worked together…

Maybe she felt resolve at that - to help Boss the same way J.A.R.V.I.S. had would be impossible with her limitations, but she could work around those. It would be nice.

And maybe, possibly, Boss would actually listen then, when she told him not to bring more potential risks into the labs.

“Stop touching that, Sir,” she told Yondu Udonta, who was yet again reaching out for sensible equipment. “If you break one more thing, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Stark! Why’d you programmed your AI to sass me? Tell her to stop!” Yondu Udonta snarked, but Boss only waved at him as he calibrated another sensor with that Racoon’s help. Banner was examining some debris left from Harry’s first ‘testing’.

“Just do as she says, you’ll be fine,” Boss said. “Okay, Harry, do that again.”

 _Really,_ Friday thought with exasperation (here she was more than sure about what she ‘felt’). Without comment, she activated the enhanced air filtering system when smoke started to form.

The part of her that was still examining the old server halted. _Oh,_ she thought, isolating the odd thing before concentrating fully on her Boss again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 3262
> 
> After the far too long chapters of the last part, I'll try to keep it at max. 5000 words.  
> Wish me luck.


	2. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patience - Tama Impala

**June 19th, 2015**  
Wand Street, New York City

“Do you really think he didn’t get hurt during the fight?” Tonks asked, twirling her wand between her fingers. A couple of purple sparks trailed behind the tip, a sign of her nerves.

Severus sighed and folded his newspaper. The local magical news seemed to report on both their news as well as Muggle ones. The fight in Albany was well-covered, something he could appreciate. Glaring in Tonks’ direction, he pointed his teaspoon at her.

“You saw him, didn’t you? Standing upright, socializing with those- superheroes. He’s likely avoiding the media attention right now and after your break-in, they must be on high alert,” he said, annoyance clear in his voice. It was far too early for him to listen to another round of Tonks’ silly worrying.

“Exactly! You’d think they’d move away from there, giving us a chance to approach him on more neutral ground,” she said, leaning back in her chair. Severus hoped she’d overbalance and fall, if only because that might shut her up for more than a minute.

“It’s nothing we can do a thing about, woman. Now let me eat my breakfast in peace, or today will be the last time I’ll join you, no matter how long you pound on my door,” he hissed, ignoring the childish snickering from Lupin.

“Sure we can, mister! Just observation this time, make sure I didn’t accidentally injure him. I don’t get how you can just sit here, enjoying your croissant,” Tonks shot back, sounding just as annoyed as Severus felt.

“I’m certainly not _enjoying_ it right now,” he said, his voice dropping with his mood.

“Children,” the pet wolf said as the two glared at each other. “Stop this. And Dora, he’s right. We’ll just have to wait for him to come out. Why don’t you use the chance and do the things you wanted to do, like shopping and sightseeing? We have almost a week before Albus joins us. If we’re lucky, Harry will come out before that. If not, the Headmaster might at least force the matter.”

Severus shook his head and stirred his tea. “Let us all hope it won’t come to that. At least he won’t bring the mutt.”

That earned him a chiding look from Lupin, which he continued to ignore. He might tolerate Lupin a bit more than he’d thought in the beginning - and Merlin only knew why, maybe some of those beasts he’d fought on foreign soil had pounded some sense into Lupin’s head -, but he wouldn’t ever say the same about Sirius Black.

~~~

 **June 19th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Taking Harry’s side after the death of his brother, trusting in what she’d seen in his mind and shared with her brother and Vision - it had been the right thing to do, and Wanda was glad about her decision. Watching him over the last couple of days, silent and oftentimes tense when in the company of more than a couple of people, it had been hard for Wanda not to reach out, offering her help. She wasn’t sure how, exactly, she could, but it was obvious that his silence came from a place in his mind, stopping the words from coming out after forming.

And the minds of people - those she understood.

Now, however, something else drove her towards the declared mage. Magic - one word that had Wanda more curious than ever. She’d seen some of his abilities during his stay in the Compound and later in Albany, but magic had never come to her mind despite being called a witch herself. She’d thought that his powers were similar to hers - now she was told that he could do so much more; that his abilities hadn’t been triggered by something else, like her and Pietro’s.

“He’s still not really talking,” Pietro said, reaching for her hand as they walked towards the glass doors to one of Stark’s private laboratories. It was close to his workshop and still within the housing complex unlike the main laboratories and factories of the Compound. She knew that because Dr Banner’s place wasn’t far from here as well.

“There are many ways to communicate,” Wanda replied, a smile tugging at her lips as she gave Pietro’s hand a quick squeeze. They should know best, shouldn’t they? His blue was firmly anchored within her mind, a solid tether held in place by her own red.

He didn’t ask if she wanted to connect to him - he knew very well that Wanda was curious. But even if that was denied (even if she was wont to ask him now), surely there were other methods they could use.

The door of the lab opened for them and their entry didn’t surprise any of the four people in attendance. They were greeted by Bruce, who smiled when he saw the twins. Stark only gave a small wave over his shoulder before going back to his work, fiddling with some kind of machinery, and Rocket the Racoon was ignoring them completely at Stark’s side, muttering in low tones while prodding at a bunch of wires.

“Don’t mind them. Harry here keeps messing with Tony’s sensors, so they decided to rebuild them,” Bruce said when he noticed, although he seemed busy as well. Harry, who was sitting on a chair, a Stark Pad next to him and a lump of gold-ish metal in his hands, looked up for a moment, meeting Wanda’s eyes briefly before going back to what he was doing.

Her fingers slipped away from Pietro’s as she walked closer. Her twin, knowing that she wanted to speak to Harry alone for a bit, turned his attention back to the two engineers. Wanda smiled; he tried, in his own way, to get to know each Avenger. Even Stark.

“Are you doing alright?” she asked when she reached the mage, drawing his attention back to her. She kept her voice soft and wasn’t surprised when her answer was an eye roll and a raised brow, his head cocked slightly to the side.

A tad defensive, but honest. A silent _what do you think?_ that made her incline her head in agreement. “I thought so,” she continued before she gestured to another, free, chair. “Are you well enough to share company?”

He seemed surprised for a moment before he gave a shrug, his eyes calculating now, assessing. The chair moved on its own towards her, even while he tapped his right index finger against the golden metal, causing a visible dip in it.

“Thank you,” Wanda said, moving to take it - she hadn’t seen anything, but then that had been true back before - his powers weren’t flashy when used to manipulate matter, it seemed. The memory of a chunk of concrete and rebar, taken out of her scarlet hold and moulded into vicious spikes, came up.

He was watching her now, his jaw working as if he was chewing on unspoken words, before he sighed and gave her a questioning look, almost daring her to speak up. 

Not that she’d fall for the obvious trap. He was… testing her. Interesting. "Sometimes my brother is silent, too,” she said instead of starting with a question. There’d be time for that later. It clearly wasn’t what Harry's expected - she knew that look on his face too well. Pietro looked much the same when he encountered something he didn’t immediately understand.

Like asking Stark obnoxious questions and having them answered despite the man being busy. She tugged on his mind - just a reminder, a soft nudge to prompt him to relax a bit. It made her sigh in fond exasperation.

“It’s hard to imagine, I know - he’s so quick and fast and always talking. And yet, there are times when he has no words at all. Not quite like you, but… it’s something we’ve learned, to deal with silence.”

Again they simply looked at each other, Wanda waiting, Harry assessing. Whatever he saw, it was enough for him to nod, splaying his hands out in an invite for her to stay before grabbing his Pad. Wanda hummed.

“I take it you don’t mind me being here, then?”

Harry shook his head, smiling a bit before nodding towards Stark. Wanda looked in the direction and had to smile as well - Pietro was still there, asking his questions about what they were doing and what the things were that he saw. And Stark was continuing to answer it all, even when one answer caused four more questions to pop up.

“Yes, I think this will take a bit longer. Conversation, then? You can write, if you want. Or I can touch your mind.”

The last bit she told him with lingering doubt - there were very few people who ever accepted this part of her, after all.

Something must’ve come through their link; she could feel Pietro’s attention focus on her again. _It is fine,_ she sent to her brother, keeping her eyes on Harry. Then, fondly: _Stop worrying so much_. Her words to Harry were merely a reminder of what she could do, what she was capable of, after all.

And yet, he didn’t look scared. There was a frown on his face as he considered her offer, but when he shook his head, it wasn’t because of doubt or even mistrust - no, all she could sense watching was a wish for privacy. Something she didn’t doubt, not with what she’d seen before when she’d accidentally watched his memories.

He wasn’t afraid of her powers. And with him knowing someone like Mantis, having an idea what she could _do..._ Wanda couldn’t help but feel glad, despite his rejection.

 _‘I have this,’_ he typed on his pad instead, one of the sleek, transparent things Stark had designed for the Team to use. The alphabet he was using was unfamiliar to him, but it immediately translated what he wrote for her. Still, those symbols reminded her that this young man was from _another galaxy_ \- far more so than the travellers alone, racoon and walking tree sapling included.

 _‘What questions do you have, then?’_ flickered onto the screen, and Wanda smiled as excitement warmed her chest.

~~~

 **June 21st, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

“I’m starving,” Tony said as he sat down at the dining table, clad in an old pair of jeans and a ratty shirt. He vaguely hoped that he’d changed his clothes during the last two days instead of putting on the same set after the shower Pepper and Bruce had forced him into.

Well, no matter that. After a moment in which he eyed the foodstuff on the table, he started heaping Lo Mein onto his plate. “Sweet, take out.”

“Tony,” Bruce chided him, but he looked just as hungry. Today had been busy for both of them, as well as Rocket, but Tony couldn’t help to feel a bit giddy.

Magic, really.

“Sorry, sweet-pie,” he said and added some pork to the noodles, slower this time.

“Since you’re all here, does this mean you got something?” Natasha pushed a container with rice closer, and Tony gave her a bright smile.

“Just so,” Bruce said with a tired but satisfied expression on his face. Pushing his glasses up, he sat down next to Tony. “The data we got from the previous attack matches the one we got from Tony’s special case, and both are close enough to Harry’s own power output. There are some differences in distribution and make-up between the two sets.”

“Which could either be because Harry’s an alien or because of those sticks. There wasn’t enough data to be sure, but he doesn’t use anything for his powers and it’s a bit all over the place as well. No fancy light shows,” Tony added before starting to eat. “Whoever decided on Chinese take-out, I love you.”

“See, Steve, I told you he likes you,” Natasha said innocently. Tony snorted softly and looked up just in time to see Rogers flustered.

“Clint’s with his family, right?” Bruce asked between bites, eyeing the empty places around the big dining table. “Are the twins with him?”

Rogers nodded, poking at some beef dish he’d shared with Vision. “I take it our guests are keeping to themselves as well?”

“It’s just us,” Tony answered, taking the glass of wine Bruce offered him. “Thanks, Brucey-bear. Anyway, since it’s pretty much confirmed that the mystery trespasser and the Granger girl have something in common, it might be best to contact her to get more information.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Natasha cautioned. “We can’t say that they aren’t the same person or from a specific group. If the magic theory stands, there are bound to be more than just a few of them out there.”

“Yeah, but if we don’t take the risk, we’d have to build something to detect that particular kind of radiation. We don’t know what the intruder used on Harry, but it’s pretty clear he was the main target of that attack, probably because of his ‘magic’. Either way, it would take too much time to do this from scratch - Granger is our best connection right now, especially since I still have her number and contact details.”

“And you could facilitate a meeting,” Rogers added thoughtfully. “It’s risky, but you’re right: as long as we don’t know what they did, it’s best to assume we are on a time-sensitive mission.”

“Perfect - I’ll call her after lunch is over. Friday, tell the gist of it to Clint, the twins and our resident aliens as soon as everyone’s finished eating.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” his AI answered.

~~~

“Well. That was awkward.”

Tony put his phone back into his pocket, scratching at his chin. A shave wouldn’t be amiss, but apparently he’d some time for that. “Friday, where’s everybody?”

“Most are in the recreational area, Boss. Mr Barton and Mr and Miss Maximoff are still in the family suite, together with the Barton family.”

“Hmh. Call them - if they’ve time, I’d like to inform the whole team.”

He threw a last look into the mirror, checking his appearance. Definitely in need of a shave, but at least he’d had time for a quick shower.

“To the recreational area, then?”

“Just so,” he replied and made his way towards the said room. It was a bit away from his own private rooms in the Compound, which were closer to the labs and his workshop, but he was happy enough that it saw some good use. Probably the bar. Almost every room was better with a proper bar in it.

He arrived before Clint and before the Pietro boy. Like his own rooms, Tony had situated the family suites at the other side of the housing complex, with the single suits bundled close to the conference areas and community spaces. It was the one thing Pepper had suggested, even before even knowing that Clint had a family. Smart woman, she was.

“Are you playing poker?” he asked, giving his voice an affronted edge. Pressing one hand against his arc reactor, Tony pointed accusingly at Natasha and Rogers, who had arranged two couch tables together. “Without me? Is that my position in this arrangement, the pesky provider? Where was my invite?”

“We’re teaching them,” Natasha said with a small, mischievous smile. Bruce was sitting next to her, without any cards in his hands but with an orangey drink instead. Across the table sat Quill, Gamora and, of all people, Drax, while the others lounged around them, keeping a close eye on the card game, or were investigating the bar and its contents.

“Is that why you allowed Grandpa to play as well?” Tony said with a cocky grin.

“Careful, Stark, or I might have to challenge you to a game later on,” Rogers responded. He’d his butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression on his big, all-American face as he put two cards down.

“I’m not ashamed to say that I suck at poker,” Tony declared, taking a seat himself on the rearranged couches. When he felt a small weight tugging on his pants, he wasn’t even surprised to find the walking plant climbing his leg. Seriously, what was his life?

“I’m taking you on that, Cap,” Clint called from the doorway, the twins trailing behind them. “Anyway, what was it you wanted, Stark?”

“Right,” Tony said, looking at Rogers and Natasha, before, at the end, turning towards Harry who was perched next to Drax in an attempt to help the giant fighter. “I tried calling the Granger girl. Thought it would be more proper than just mailing her. Anyway, seems like she’s in some kind of private school and won’t be back home until the 25th. Her father was pretty hard to convince that I’m me, by the way. Either way, I’m going to meet up with her to get some information on this whole magic deal.”

“A private school?” Clint asked. “What kind?”

“The fancy kind. I let Friday check it out, it’s somewhere up in Scotland. And not only fancy, but with some big friends - we were unable to find any detailed information. Name’s Hogwarts.”

“And you’re just going to meet up with her?”

Tony shrugged. He didn’t feel very threatened by the concept of meeting with a 17-year-old girl from London. “I have my suit,” he said, peeking into Rogers’ cards.

His phone vibrated as his team started to talk about the merits and risks of his idea. Checking his messages, he grinned, looking at Harry.

“Sure, kiddo?” he asked, receiving a shrug and a nod.

 _It’s magic. Chances are, I can help if stuff goes awry,_ appeared on the screen of his phone.

“What’s he saying?” Rogers asked, craning his neck.

“Just that he’s coming with me,” Tony answered.

“Wait, if he’s coming, I’m going too,” Quill immediately shot off, followed by a “Harry, are you sure?” from Gamora.

“I don’t think that there should be more than two,” Rogers cut in, putting his cards down. The game was all but forgotten by now. “This is recon only, after all.”

Harry wrote his next message without sending it just to Stark. Instead, he pushed the Pad onto the joined couch tables, gesturing over it. _I’m not going to accept anyone who wants to babysit me,_ the message read. _It’s me and Stark only. Stark because he actually knows that girl, and me because I’m the only one here who can identify magic without fancy gadgets._

“I’m not babysitting you,” Quill said with a scowl, but after Harry levelled an unimpressed look at him, he huffed. “Well, fine, but you can hardly blame me.”

“If she’s a friendly, she might identify what the intruder did to you,” Natasha said, ignoring the family moment. “I don’t see why not - as long as I can come as well, keep an eye out from a distance.”

“I’d say yes to that, shortstuff,” Clint told Harry, who was already reaching out for his pad again. “She’ll come either way.”

“Yes, I will,” Natasha said with a sweet smile that had Harry freeze for a moment, then scowl and nod. He nevertheless grabbed his Pad, typing something.

Tony’s phone hummed.

“Fuck, yes,” the billionaire said with a big grin.

_Let’s take the Downfall for the trip._

~~~

 **June 26th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

**Severus, Dora. He’s moving. — Remus.**

The moment the tip of his fountain pen moved from the smooth page, the words etched themselves into the enchanted parchment with a warm glow. He knew that the two would feel their booklets heat up and hoped that they’d check the message as fast as possible.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before he heard a couple of apparition pops where he’d been waiting in the hotel’s lobby. “The new map is upstairs,” he said and started walking before Dora, weighted down by a shopping back, even fully entered the hotel.

“Did you notice it immediately, or was there a delay?” Severus asked, following Remus up to the room he shared with the Auror, not even glancing at the packages and bags that had accumulated ever since Remus had suggested her to ‘spend her time shopping’. The map, a recently bought and handsome map of the Muggle and magical world, was on the bed, currently zoomed onto the New York area.

A bright, red dot was moving ever so slowly to the north of the Avenger’s Compound.

“Nothing more than a minute or two - I was fixing myself a cuppa and came back to it moving,” Remus answered over Dora’s muttered _“Finally!”._ “Should we wait until he stops before following, or-”

He very nearly stumbles over his own feet when he saw the red dot - Harry’s location - darts across the painted surface, causing the map to rapidly zoom out.

“What- what’s _that?”_ Dora gasped and even Severus looked decidedly shocked. Already the dot was speeding across the North Atlantic ocean.

“A Portkey? No, those are instantaneous, it wouldn’t show like this on the map…” Severus murmured before looking up. “Lupin, contact the Headmaster. He’s heading in the direction of Europe. Chances are he’ll either stop there or somewhere in Russia, no matter what he uses for travel. No Patronus, he must be on his way to Diagon Alley already, who knows who’s with him. Use this.”

Grabbing his fountain pen, Lupin took Severus’ booklet and opened it towards the last pages. It was separated to link to a different partner, one that the Headmaster was in possession of. His hand shook a bit as he wrote the message.

**Harry’s moving towards Europe, please wait, don’t come now.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 3634


	3. TV Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TV Party - Black Flag (temporary title)
> 
> A new Beta has entered the fray - please welcome CB3, who offered to help us out in our fight against spelling errors and questionable grammar. I'm really sorry about them - it's like my brain can't English. :>

**A few minutes earlier**  
The Downfall

_Seatbelts. Just push the red button to your right._

Tony made a face at the instructions that appeared on a hologram in front of the front windshield. But a moment’s hesitation later, he’d followed them, watching with unhidden glee how bands of sturdy fabric shot out of the sides to stretch over his torso.

“So, how fast does this thing go?” he asked Harry, who was starting up the Downfall. The movements of his hands looked effortless, but Tony knew better - it was the kind of effortlessness that came from endless hours of use. He wondered for a moment how long Harry had owned this ship - the mage was young, after all, easily younger than the twins even.

_We won’t leave the atmosphere completely, but we should get up to..._ the translation struggled with the following symbols, but after a few moments, it converted them to numbers.

Tony whistled. “That’s… a lot,” he said. Almost ten thousand kilometres per hour - they would reach London in half an hour. “This ship must be made from some really powerful stuff if you can bring it up to that speed without tearing it apart. Even in the upper atmosphere, it must be a real strain.”

This time Tony only got a nod for an answer as the thrusters powered up. There was almost no vibration and the only sound was a soft hum. He had to look out of the windows to see that they were gaining in height, slow at first but then faster. There was the slightest north-drift to their rapid ascension, and soon the Compound was nothing but a dark fleck amidst greenery, and then it was a green fleck amidst more green and grey.

“Almost no pressure on the body,” he breathed and watched Harry’s fingers fly over one of his input screens.

_Dampeners,_ it read when the words flickered to life.

Tony heard Natasha laugh and whipped his head around - she was staring out of the clear window, and for once she didn’t bother with her masks. Disbelief and shocked wonder - Tony grinned widely as they passed the clouds and the sky started to darken.

“Thermosphere reached,” a cool, neutral voice announced. It sounded nothing like Friday, let alone Jarvis - this was thoroughly computer-generated and devoid of emotion.

The sound of the thrusters shifted as the ship repositioned itself. It was hard to get a good look at those fantastically mobile wings. Then Harry put both his hands onto the control stick.

For one terrible, beautiful moment, whatever dampeners the Downfall had struggled to catch up to the insane acceleration. Next to Tony, Natasha gasped as the pressure piled up on them. A wordless whoop came from Harry and then the pressure lessened from frightening to bearable.

Underneath them, Earth rolled around, New York giving way for the North Atlantic Ocean.

~~~

**June 26th, 2015**  
Diagon Alley, London

Albus hummed as he entered the International Portkey Station, only minutes before his portkey was ready to go. He was looking forward to the trip, despite his dislike of international portkeys. For a week now he’d had to deal with Severus’ sparse reports, being harangued by both Minerva and Sirius about updates, questioned when they could go as well… he stopped when thinking about the two and looked around. A whispered incantation later, he hummed again, sure that nobody was following him. He wouldn’t put it past Sirius, and quite frankly, poor Minerva had gotten a bit frantic herself.

“Good day, Sir,” someone said in greeting, and Albus smiled and nodded towards a young man behind the counter. “New York City, right, Headmaster?”

“Why, yes, Mr Weatherby,” he replied after a moment of matching the adult face to a younger one. Hufflepuff, if he wasn’t mistaken. He adjusted his bright blue robes a bit, his belt buckle and shoes polished to a shine. “I’m sorry for being a tad late.”

“Oh, it’s quite okay, Sir,” the youth said, visibly pleased of being remembered, and waved him over towards one of the doors. Walking through it, Albus entered one of the familiar departure rooms. “We don’t have much to do today. Most of our business won’t start proper until tomorrow. You have the canned corn, Sir. Two minutes.”

“Thank you, my boy,” Albus replied and was left alone in the room. A small number of items had been placed onto tables - one of them an old, rusty can with a smiling corn cob painted on it. Just as he approached the tables, something warm brushed his hip, gaining more heat yet. For a moment Albus hesitated, but then he merely touched the booklet to calm down the enchantment. He wasn’t keen on losing it the moment the portkey activated.

So instead of checking what news Severus had written, Albus smoothed his travel cloak and grabbed the empty can, the tingle of the _Portus_ charm brushing against his fingers.

A minute later, the charm activated and Albus was pulled through a kaleidoscope of colours.

\---

“I’m getting too old for this,” the Headmaster said breathily, blinking in the sudden bright sunlight from the window. A woman in a smart pencil skirt and crisp, white blouse approached him, her smile even and white and her name on a badge, and helped him with a dose of Stomach Soother before ushering him out of the arrival’s room.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been to New York. Meetings of the ICW changed location every year, and with the length of his tenure as Supreme Mugwump, he’d visited the States a couple of times. It was still a marvel every time he came to Wand Street, for it was quite different from anything wizarding Britain had to offer, with its modern architecture and people.

With a smile on his face, Albus finally pulled out his enchanted booklet to read what Severus had written.

**Harry’s moving towards Europe, please wait, don’t come now.**

“Oh my,” he said after a moment, surprised not only by Remus’ handwriting but also by the message itself. “That’s a bit awkward.”

**June 26th, 2015**  
Wand Street, New York City

“Albus,” Severus said, not caring how pained his voice sounded. Not even the slightly sheepish look on the headmaster’s face could brighten his mood.

“I fear that I hadn’t gotten to read your message in time, my boy,” Albus said, still standing in the doorway to Lupin and Tonks’ room in his ridiculously flamboyant robes. Severus felt a headache starting when he noticed the flying broomsticks zooming around the thick, turquoise fabric.

“Oh, no,” said Tonks from somewhere around the bed, and with a deep sigh, Severus stepped aside to let Albus in.

“What is it now?” he asked, voice terse. His face felt tight in a familiar way - it was a sure sign of deep annoyance or frustration.

“Well, the thing is… he’s pretty much heading for Britain. It’s a very straight line. In fact, I think he’s heading for London. That, or for somewhere in Scandinavia.”

Severus turned his head around to let Albus feel the entire weight of his displeasure. At least the man had the decency to wince.

“This time,” the Potions Master said, feeling a twitch in his left eye. “We’ll wait for him to stop. I’m sure, Albus, that you’ll be able to procure new portkeys should we need them.”

“Yes,” Albus replied, his eyes still on the map. They’d widened a bit due to the speed in which the red dot was moving. “I suppose I must.”

~~~

**June 26th, 2015**  
Muggle London, England

Hermione smiled when she saw Ginny spinning out of Tom’s fireplace. The redhead was wearing a sunny cotton dress which looked as Muggle as Hermione’s own blouse and jeans combination. She’d even braided her hair into a french braid, Hermione noticed. And those shoes looked suspiciously new.

“I thought you didn’t believe that Tony Stark was coming?” Hermione said innocently, flicking her wand to get rid of the ashes on Ginny’s shoes and the hem of her dress. That earned her a fond, yet exasperated look.

“Better safe than sorry,” she countered, grabbing onto Hermione’s arm as the two young women made their way out of the Leaky Cauldron. “Even if it isn’t him, it could still be someone from Stark Industries, and I don’t want to be mentioned as Ms Granger’s weird ladyfriend.”

“Ladyfriend?” Hermione said incredulously, causing Ginny to giggle. “Anyway, Dad was pretty sure it was him. Apparently Mr Stark called him personally and had to prove it to Dad. I wish I could’ve been there.”

She sighed wistfully - the idea of someone like _Tony Stark_ calling her was exciting. Better even than emails. Who knew what kind of ideas would slip during a conversation?

“You still didn’t tell me why there’s a meeting in the first place. Have you been exchanging more emails with Mr Stark?”

“Shut up, you.” They both laughed while walking down the busy streets of London on their way to the meeting place.

Hermione had insisted on a public place, not willing to put her parents into discomfort should this end up being a prank of some sorts. On their way, she weedled some updates out of Ginny, who had been very reluctant to discuss her ongoing talks with the Aurors.

“I hope it’s over after that,” she said, her voice more serious now, but the smile not fully gone. “Auror Kingsley said they wanted to take some memories from the incident. Percy’s already given some of his from his encounters with Mr Crouch. I just want to be done with it.”

“I’m sure they agree with you, there,” Hermione said, thinking about the horror of that night. Of Ginny and Cormac gone and the tumult in the Forbidden Forest. Feeling the mood drop, Hermione took a deep breath and nudged Ginny with her shoulder. “Which gives us plenty of time for the rest of the summer. We should go to the Stark Expo in August.”

It was enough to pull Ginny out of her thoughts. The girl was visibly glad for the change of conversation, and it held long enough for the two to arrive at the café in a good mood. The weather was sunny, with a nice breeze cooling off the summer heat, and they chose one of the tables outside.

Despite her earlier lighthearted comments, Hermione felt the tingles of anxiety building up. The time for their meeting drew close and she still wasn’t sure if this was a giant joke or the genuine thing. And even if it was Mr Stark who was on his way, why would he come personally to speak with her?

All she knew was that it had something to do with the old Stark Pad she’d sent to him years ago. According to her parents, Mr Stark had made some comments on it, especially regarding the special alloy he’d created. It left Hermione feeling a bit restless, and she wondered: Would it have been better to tell Miss C about the meet-up?

When she saw a fancy car pulling up, her stomach coiling with nerves, she knew it was far too late for regretting her decisions. She’d earlier decided to only tell her friends and to take Ginny with her, and now she’d have to stick to it. She could always call Miss C later on, anyway.

“It’s him,” Ginny whispered next to her, hands tight around the menu of the café. Her eyes were wide, and Hermione felt the same excitement when she saw _Tony Stark_ climbing out of the car. He was wearing sunglasses and a hat, possibly to avoid attention, but for Hermione and Ginny, both who’d been waiting for him, it was easy to see through the flimsy disguise. Still, Hermione thought, it was likely enough for those who weren’t expecting the genius to appear in London.

Another man was coming out as well - this time it took Hermione a bit longer before she could make something familiar out of his face. She’d seen it in one of the news clips she’d been watching since coming home. The papers and news stations were still full of speculations about the mysterious people working alongside the well-known Avengers, and the young guy was one of them. He, too, was wearing a floppy, dark hat, which was rather ill-suited for him, but she could see his bright, green eyes and a strong jaw just fine.

He saw them first, nudging Mr Stark with his elbow. When the two made their way towards their table, Hermione stood up, nervous but smiling widely. She suspected she looked as giddy as Ginny next to her.

“Good day,” she greeted them both. Mr Stark seemed to appreciate her avoidance of his name and gave her a dashing smile before shaking her hand and Ginny’s.

“Nice of you to meet us here,” he said with a wink and sat down. Ginny was still shaking hands with his friend. “This is Harry, by the way. Friend of mine. Hope you don’t mind that he tagged along, but I see that you brought one as well.”

The way he said it was so charming that Hermione couldn’t help but smile at that. “This is Ginny Weasley, a good friend of mine as well,” she introduced the blushing redhead. “She’s a great fan of your products and was the one encouraging me to send my Stark Pad in when it malfunctioned, so I couldn’t come without her, really.”

“Eh,” Mr Stark said, waving his hand. “It’s alright, don’t worry about it. Maybe it’s even better that way - having two of you here, that is.” He eyed Harry, giving him a nod, which made Hermione startle a bit - especially with Mr Stark’s words, it was a very suspicious thing to do.

When the feeling of unfamiliar magic washed over her, Hermione and Ginny both tensed up. Hermione’s hand was flying to her handbag, body rigid, but then she noticed that whatever this Harry had done, it felt like… a privacy charm?

“Sorry about that,” Mr Stark said and gave a weak smile. “Don’t want anyone to listen in. Oh, is that your magic stick?”

“What is the meaning of this?” Ginny asked with clenched teeth. Her wand was only just visible, but her fingers were tight around the polished wood. Her eyes were on Harry, who was shrugging and giving her a sharp smile.

“He doesn’t speak, don’t mind him,” Mr Stark said, trying to get a better look at Ginny’s wand. Hermione frowned, worry building up like nothing else.

“Mr Stark,” she said. The magic was off, more like a flood than a precise spell, but it had all the marks of a privacy charm. She’d trust it for now. “I’m sorry, but this is all very confusing. Since when have you known about us? And don’t you know that you’re going against the Statute?” She shot the last question towards that Harry guy, who only looked confused despite using what looked like wandless, wordless magic. “I’ve seen you in the news,” she explained, her voice highly disapproving. “Using magic like that, in front of all those people - it might be okay with Mr Stark, since he obviously is in the know, but you can’t just go around breaking the law!”

“A law?” Mr Stark asked, sounding excited. Hermione couldn’t believe it: he didn’t even know about it! And his friend was grinning now, a slightly crooked, mischievous thing that reminded her highly of the twins.

“Oh Merlin,” Ginny gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know- Hermione!”

“Wait, wait! Come on, let’s all calm down here. I didn’t come to make trouble, promise. I just need some help, that’s all.”

Ginny was shaking her head, but something made Hermione stop pulling out her own wand. Her fingers itched - she knew she should call the Aurors, so that Mr Stark could be properly obliviated, but the honesty in his words made her hesitate.

“Our help?” she asked, half incredulous and half curious. Ginny threw her an exasperated, panicky look - that girl knew Hermione far too well.

“Yes, your help. See, Harry here- he got attacked, just a few days ago. After Albany. Someone with a stick like yours and the same energy readings that we got from your Pad broke into the Compound and hit him with _something._ And we don’t know what it is. That’s all, really. I mean, it would be nice to hear more about it all, magic sure sounds pretty incredible, and if you have laws you surely have some kind of working society going on…”

At that point, just as Hermione started to feel overwhelmed again by the flood of words, Harry jutted out his elbow, hitting Mr Stark’s side with considerable force. Pulling out a Stark Pad himself (Hermione noticed immediately that the design was unlike those for sale - a prototype?), he typed something in and turned the thing around for Ginny and Hermione to read.

It didn’t even fizzle under his privacy charm, which meant that Mr Stark had made good use of his alloy.

_‘It was definitely magic, but I don’t know what it does. I also can’t get rid of it. Also, I don’t know what laws you’re talking about, but I’m sorry if I broke any. I’m not from here.’_

“They’re pretty international,” Ginny managed to say after reading the message. “So that really isn’t an excuse.”

Harry grinned again. _‘Try a bit further away’_ he typed. Stark snickered.

“He’s from space. Like Thor,” the billionaire explained.

“Oh.”

~~~

It was, in a way, a good ice breaker between the four. Definitely a better explanation than a rogue wizard going against international law. The Statute of Secrecy was a pretty big deal, after all, something Hermione made sure to explain to both Mr Stark and Harry in great detail.

She was still unsure if this was the right thing to do, but somehow, Harry’s existence fortified the revelation that there was magic in space. Sure, she’d had an encounter with Thor and those Dark Elves, both alien species with their own brand of magic, but sitting amiably together with another example, drinking iced tea and eating cake, was really driving that point home.

“I guess it’s okay for you to know about it, under these circumstances, Sir,” she said to Mr Stark. “It’s something I’ve thought about before, as well.”

“Oh, you did?” he said, digging into his chocolate fudge cake.

“She was in Greenwich,” Ginny said helpfully. She was still watching both men closely, but more in a relaxed, if cautious, way. At least she’d put her wand away. “Back when it was under attack.”

“Ouch, yeah, that’d do it.” Mr Stark was grimacing. “There was an attack of Dark Elves or whatever there, a couple years ago,” he then explained to his mute friend.

Hermione sighed. She wasn’t too fond of remembering that day, but the shock and fear that had followed her dreams for months afterwards were only a faint memory these days. “Anyway,” she said, if only to get the conversation away from Greenwich. “I think, under these circumstances, that I can help you with your problem. But not here - we can go to my place. This might need some time, depending on what spell was used.”

“Perfect,” Mr Stark said, his smile sharp and charming as always.

~~~

**June 26th, 2015**  
Hermione’s Home, London

Ginny couldn’t help but feel like this was all bound to end badly. A Muggle knowing about magic - and one like Tony Stark, of all people! - couldn’t be good, right? Those who had magical relatives, like Mr and Mrs Granger, at least had a good reason to keep the secret safe, but outsiders didn’t have that.

Maybe it was her upbringing that made her feel so uncomfortable as they drove to Hermione’s home. Her friend certainly was more curious and excited than worried about this whole situation.

“There we are,” Hermione said as they parked in front of a row house made out of red bricks and dark clay tiles on the roof. “Ginny, I’m going to talk to my parents. Can you show them to my room?”

“Sure,” Ginny said, feeling anything but. She still got out of the fancy car and followed Hermione, Mr Stark and Harry up to the door and into the house. Hermione hurried away towards the living room, leaving Ginny with the two men. “Shoes off,” she told them, kicking her own off her feet.

Ginny led the way - not to join Hermione, but up the stairs and towards Hermione’s own room. Harry was looking around curiously while Mr Stark seemed oddly disappointed after a glance around. _He might’ve thought that Mr and Mrs Granger are magical as well,_ Ginny thought - a normal Muggle house like this, while quite fascinating for people like Ginny, was bound to be boring for someone who was searching for cauldrons and pointy hats.

Hermione’s room proved her right. It was mostly Muggle, of course, with a sensible (and luckily freshly made) bed, a study nook with a table and a comfortable chair at the window, and bookshelves lining the walls. But at the foot of the bed was Hermione’s Hogwarts trunk, left open and still filled with folded garments and stacked books. On her desk, a neat stack of magical Newspapers and magazines shared their space with a leather-bound and iron-clasped tome about Transfiguration. Her shelves were filled with both Muggle and magical books and tidbits, and on her walls were posters and photos from both worlds. One of the photos depicted the whole group of MagiTech, waving at Ginny as she walked past.

Mr Stark’s face lit up almost instantly as he walked up to it, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to take it off the wall.

“No touching,” Ginny said with haste, just as Mr Stark was reaching out to it. It earned her a pout, which, okay - she hadn’t thought she would ever see any other grown man next to Sirius pout like that.

Harry was looking as well, going along the bookshelves and taking in all the books. She was only partially aware of him, since Mr Stark was far more likely to prod around, but she noticed when Harry took off the ill-fitting hat he’d worn outside, one hand raking through his short, dark hair.

She could hear Hermione’s steps coming up the stairs just as Harry turned around. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Ginny’s gaze wandered up.

The sight of the jagged scar on his forehead hit her like a Bludger, leaving her gaping and plenty off-balanced. He was frowning, clearly confused by her reaction, but she couldn’t help but stare at him, her mind reeling.

And really, it _did_ fit together, didn’t it? The name, the looks, him being a wizard - even the fact that he got attacked shortly after arriving at Earth.

“Oh, Merlin,” she breathed, only vaguely noticing Hermione entering the room and Harry’s and Mr Stark’s alarmed looks.

“Ginny?” Hermione asked, sounding worried. Warm, familiar hands wrapped around her own, and Ginny forced herself to look away from the lightning bolt scar, meeting Hermione’s brown eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s Harry **Potter,”** Ginny blurted out, pointing at Harry who was blinking rapidly. “The _Boy-Who-Lived!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 3933
> 
> Well, it finally happened. \o/


	4. Anonanimal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonanimal - Andrew Bird

**June 26th, 2015**  
Granger Residence, London

“Ginny,” Hermione said, hoping that she sounded calm and sensible while giving her friend’s shaking hand a squeeze. “He’s from _space._ How can he be Harry _Potter?”_

Ginny’s blue eyes focussed back on her, still wide from her shock. But then her jaw set and her shoulders squared in that typical Weasley way that Hermione knew so well. “Look at him, Hermione,” she replied, voice steady again before she pulled her hand out of Hermione’s grasp. “Look at his scar.”

Hermione hesitated before turning her gaze. Ginny’s voice had been so _sure_ that it made her feel a bit anxious. Mr Stark had stepped next to his young friend, a frown on his handsome features. Harry himself was looking a bit bewildered but made no move to hide his forehead. They’d both taken off their silly hats, and there, on Harry’s face…

“Oh,” Hermione breathed, eyes rapt on the jagged scar there. “ _Oh.”_

“It makes sense, Hermione,” Ginny continued, and now they both were staring at Harry, whose face set into a confused scowl, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Excuse me,” Mr Stark interrupted them, making at least Hermione startle a bit. “But what are you talking about?”

Her fingers itched to go get her _Modern History of Magical Britain_ book, or maybe _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ she’d bought a couple of years earlier, but after years of spending most of her time in a dormitory with relatively normal girls, she wasn’t that socially awkward girl anymore who didn’t know how to be a people person. Running off now to do some research wouldn’t be very polite.

Nor was staring at an increasingly uncomfortable looking stranger.

“Um,” Hermione said, struggling to find the right words. “It’s just that, er, his scar- rather, your scar, Harry. There was someone who had just the same scar, who disappeared-”

“The Boy-Who-Lived,” Ginny jumped in, eyes large and focussed on Harry, who raised his eyebrows at her words. “His name was Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. As a baby, he got a scar on his forehead shaped like a lightning bolt. I remember, when I was little, how everyone panicked because he was _kidnapped._ Not by someone magic, but with Muggle means.”

Harry blinked once, looking from Ginny to Hermione, both who were still watching him closely. Then he snorted and shook his head, his body relaxing again. His fingers moved fast and sure over the Stark Pad before showing Mr Stark what he’d written.

“He says that he had to jump galaxies for him to come here, in the first place,” Mr Stark read aloud before looking up sharply. “And I still want to know how you do that, by the way. Oh, he has a friend who’s from Terra - that’s what Earth’s called up there - one he kind of grew up with… Oh, Peter, right. Anyway, it never came up that they have the same cradle planet.” He looked up again, away from the tablet and towards the girls. “Could be a coincidence, couldn’t it? He might have a similar scar.”

“It could be,” Hermione hummed, feeling torn. It was an awful lot of coincidences - the name, the age, him being magical _and_ the scar… but she didn’t believe that Harry was lying. “But it wouldn’t hurt to look into it, right? Maybe later,” she added when she saw how Ginny geared up for an argument. “This is hardly just a friendly visit. You needed our help.”

Ginny deflated but Hermione knew that she wasn’t yet done. The Weasley girl had that stubborn and curious glint in her eyes, one that Hermione recognized easily from Ginny’s brothers.

“Sounds good,” Mr Stark said, but he still sounded a bit wary. Harry, on the other hand, looked glad that the topic was dropped, and sat down on the edge of Hermione’s bed. It didn’t surprise Hermione one bit when Ginny joined him there.

With a sigh, Hermione pulled out her wand.

~~~

_“...quod factum est revelare...”_

The Granger girl had murmured for a good few minutes now, waving her stick - _Wand,_ Tony thought; better call it for what it was - around Harry’s head and body. She’d been shown where the spell had hit the guy and what colour the light had been. Sadly, both the shouting and the smoke in the room had swallowed the intruder’s words, which would’ve made this a lot easier.

At least according to Hermione, who told them that she’d have to see what spell was used before attempting to break it.

Her own wandwork looked quite good, as far as Tony could tell. Precise little flicks and motions moved the tip of the wand to and fro, with sparks and lights escaping the carved wood to fly into Harry or wrap around him for a moment. Harry looked extremely curious during the whole time, watching Hermione raptly as if trying to figure out what, exactly, she was doing.

Tony himself didn’t know if he should be fascinated or frustrated. Maybe both - this looked methodical but he didn’t understand the factors playing into it. Hermione herself seemed like the kind of girl with a rational mind, but she also used magic - did that make magic rational? He didn't even think it was proper Latin that she used, at least from what he recalled of learning it himself after meeting Romanoff. Here and there, words and sentences from other languages slipped into her muttering, which made it hard to follow her already jumbled terminology.

In other words, it made no sense to Tony. And he wanted it to make sense, wanted to figure out this power those girls and Harry wielded. Not only were there more mages romping about in the greater universe, but Earth was full of them as well.

Finally, Hermione let out a satisfied hum, ending her muttering and wand waving. Harry blinked when the young woman stood up and put away her wand. “It’s a locator spell,” she announced. “Not one I’m familiar with - it looks like it’d been custom made, probably from a few older ones.”

“So they know where we are?” Tony asked sharply, to which Hermione nodded.

“Yes. But not for long. It might take me some time, but now that I know what it is, I can reverse it.”

“But how?”

Hermione gave him a long look, her eyes calculating, assessing. Then she went to one of her bookshelves and took out two older looking books. Leather-bound, Tony saw, and with pages made from parchment. “If you want,” she hedged, books in her arms. “I can try and show you. I reckon it’s similar enough to mathematics.”

“Is it?” Tony asked, a giddy feeling blooming in his chest. He grinned at the girl, who replied with a smile, and then they were off to the desk. “But first, _what_ is a spell, precisely?”

~~~

 **June 26th, 2015**  
Clint Barton’s Homestead, Missouri

Clint looked up when he heard his phone ring. Only very few people had this particular number, all of whom were part of the Avengers. Shifting baby Nathaniel a bit higher on his chest, careful not to wake the napping boy, he stretched his free arm out to grab the buzzing phone from the coffee table.

Upon seeing Nat’s caller ID, he accepted the call and looked over the backrest of the couch he was currently lounging on. The farmhouse wasn’t exactly quiet - in front of him, the TV was playing the news, volume turned low when Nathaniel had dozed off, but behind him, the sounds of voices and raucous laughter echoed into the living room. Laura was in the kitchen preparing dinner, Wanda there to help and Vision hovering curiously behind them both, watching them work. Through the open door, he saw a blueish blur passing by and heard an excited shriek from Cooper.

“What’s up, дорогая?” he asked, feeling rather content. He’d decided to visit the farm with his family for the weekend to avoid the hubbub of aliens and terrorists as long as he could and invited the Maximoff twins along for the ride. It’d felt like a good idea, to give them some sense of family. Vision had been a surprise addition, asking if he could come along as well.

Clint had a sneaking suspicion why that would be as he watched Wanda showing Vision how to wash and prepare the cabbage.

“I lost them, ястреб,” came the dry reply. Clint perked up and placed one hand on his baby boy’s tiny head. “The meeting was looking good - a bit tense at the start, but it settled down. And then they just took the car and drove off.”

“That’s Stark for you,” Clint said and tried not to snort in amusement. “Can you follow them?”

“Friday is sending me the location right now, but it’ll take me a few to get there. How are you? Is the farm still standing?”

“Barely,” Clint replied, a content grin stretching over his face. Leaning back, another loud shriek sounded from outside - this time from his daughter Lila. “The kids are having fun with the twins and your little godson is currently drooling on me.”

“You’d better send me a picture,” Natasha demanded. Clint chuckled and let his fingers run over the soft baby skin. “Or I might show you what I’ll do to Stark when I find him, ястреб.”

“Don’t kill him,” Clint said, only half-serious.

“Just a bit of a scare so he won’t run off again,” she promised and Clint could _hear_ that fake innocent smile on her lips that was really just her way of baring her teeth. “And don’t forget my picture.”

“Jeesh,” Clint huffed after Natasha hung up. He fiddled with his phone before snapping a picture of Nathaniel the sleeping wonder, sending it to her immediately. Better safe than sorry. “Don’t ever become an agent, Nath,” he told his son and made to sit up. “You’ll end up giving your daddy grey hairs, just like your godmother.”

Nathaniel answered this with an eloquent spit bubble, squirming a bit from being moved around. Thankfully, he quickly fell back into his sleep.

Letting out a breath, Clint focussed back on his phone, searching through the numbers before settling on one. While waiting for Stark to pick up, he watched the TV, where the news anchor reported about another car accident. Stark answered the call when they blended in a picture of the injured neurosurgeon.

“He-ey, Katniss!” Stark said, pulling Clint’s attention from the screen. “What’s the call for? I’m a bit busy right now.”

“Oh, just asking how it’s going,” Clint replied. Whatever they were doing back in the kitchen, it was starting to smell really nice. “How was the meeting?”

“Still going. They found out what hit Harry and now we’re working on getting rid of it. Listen, bud, I love that you called me, but Hermione is showing me some awesome stuff, so if you don’t have anything important to say…”

“Just that Natasha is pissed,” Clint interrupted him cheerfully. Hermione, huh? Things must be going really well with the target if Stark’s calling her by her first name. Hopefully, she didn’t turn out to be crazy or hostile. Clint had enough of villainous madmen wielding magic for a lifetime. “She’s on her way after you left her behind, so maybe get something to bribe her with before she gets there.”

There was a sudden silence behind the phone. A female voice said something that was too quiet for Clint to pick up and Stark coughed. “Right. Thanks for the head’s up, Legolas, I owe you... something.”

“Sure thing. See you on Monday.”

Clint ended the call and put the phone away. A soft noise had him look down and with a coo, he pulled the waking Nathaniel further up his chest just as the baby started to squirm. “Hello, baby,” he said and stood up. He knew that frown on that tiny face and hurried to the nursery just as the smell hit him.

~~~

 **June 26th, 2015**  
Granger Residence, London

Harry watched Hermione and Tony’s back, feeling bemused. Both of them were currently hunched over Hermione’s work, Tony shooting off question after question, each of them patiently answered by the girl.

Shaking his head, not entirely sure how long he’d still have to wait, he turned back to Ginny, the redheaded girl who thought she knew him.

 _‘I think they’ve forgotten about us,’_ he typed, the words translating fluidly into English. After Tony and Hermione had gotten started about the theory behind Terra’s magics, there wasn’t much to do but to ‘talk’ to Ginny, who’d thankfully dropped her own theories about his heritage. He’d been surprised to find out that she was very pleasant to talk to, not at all weirded out by his continued silence. _‘Can you tell me more about this flying thing? Why are you using brooms?’_

“I think that’s because of the Statute,”Ginny replied to Harry’s latest message. “After the wizarding population went into hiding, you couldn’t just enchant anything to fly without people noticing. Before, lots of things were used for that - there’s still a good variety around the world, like carpets or other household items big enough to carry a person. Brooms had already been used for Quidditch, though, because they’re much better for sharp turns and acceleration.”

_‘Quidditch was the sports game?’_

“Yep!” Ginny said brightly, her eyes shining. “You gotta see it for yourself, though. Even if you aren’t Potter, you’re still a wizard. From space, but you look like a regular human. How long are you going to stay here, anyway?”

_‘Not sure. We came here because Peter needed to. So after this, we’re going back to America first and visit his old home. I might stay longer, though - this is the first magical planet I’ve visited, I need to learn more.’_

“You’re probably too old for Hogwarts, but there are lots of books to learn from. That way, you won’t raise too much suspicion.” She got a thoughtful look on her face before throwing Harry a sly look. “How about a deal? I’ll take you to a place where you can buy all the books you want and in exchange you’ll take some time to try and remember if you really aren’t from here.” Reaching over, she patted his hand, saying, “I’ll keep it quiet, even if you _are_ Harry Potter. Might not be the best time for him to show up, anyway.”

 _‘But why? What’s so special about him that you want me to be him?’_ Harry wasn’t exactly against trying, but he’d done that for years now: Try and remember anything concrete from back before the Temple. He’d always wanted to know where he’d come from, even if knowing would be a risk. **He** had tried to search for Harry’s cradle planet as well, keen to gather more people with his gift, so in a way, Harry’s lack of knowledge had been a blessing.

Were there magical means to remember more than angry voices and cramped spaces?

“It’s… a lot. Wait a second- Hermione?” Ginny called over, getting on her feet. “Can I get _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ from you?”

“What? Oh, sure, just take it,” the bushy-haired girl replied before her attention was once again on her work. “We’re also nearly done here. A couple of minutes maybe, I want to check it again.”

 _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ was a book - something that was a bit rare in space, although many cultures liked to have them around on-planet. This one looked like it had seen some good use - the leather wasn’t shiny around the edges, the spine was cracked and the pages were well worn and crinkled at the edges.

“You want to check You-Know-Who,” Ginny pointed out one of the last chapters. Harry, who wasn’t yet able to read Terran scripts, used the translation program on his Stark Pad to scan the page and have it translated.

 _So there was a war between mages,_ Harry thought. Multiple times in history, even. It was a bit sad - but then, they were just people as well. And people always had the potential to become assholes.

Harry, who’d occasionally profited from war, knew that very well.

The book painted a dark picture of the war that ended sixteen years ago. Some kind of ‘dark lord’ that wasn’t even named properly had terrorized Britain until he went and got himself killed during a personal assassination. James and Lily Potter had been his last victims, leaving their son Harry Potter behind - the only known survivor of a killing spell and hailed as a hero.

A picture, one of the moving ones, had been printed on that page, black and white like the others in the book. Harry stared at the two young people, the pretty woman holding a baby in her arms. He wondered if there was any resemblance between him and those two. _The brows and the jaw from that man, maybe,_ he thought before looking back to the woman. _A bit of her nose. But all in all… nah._

He closed the book again, running his fingers over the supple leather covering. Then he changed back to the writing app. _‘I have to go back to America today. But I can come back in a few days.’ ___

__“Then it’s a date,” Ginny replied with a bright smile. “Oh, and you want to cover that scar up. No matter if you’re him or not, it might attract some unwanted attention.”_ _

__Harry later got her number to call when he wanted to visit, and then Hermione and Tony were back to remove whatever tracking spell he’d been hit with. He could almost feel the change, which was nice - especially since nothing else lingered in its place, at least nothing Harry could spot._ _

__“Should we go back, then?” Tony asked, a book in his hand. It looked a bit old: _The Magic of Numbers: Arithmancy for Beginners._ “If you’re ready.”_ _

__Harry nodded. It was time to go back - and maybe speak to Wanda._ _

__~~~_ _

__**June 26th, 2015**  
12 Grimmauld Place, London_ _

__Sirius was eating lunch when he heard his name being called. Looking up and towards the kitchen door, wondering if it was someone firecalling him, it took him a few moments before the mirror came to mind._ _

__“I’m here, I’m here,” he called, pulling the little handheld mirror out of his pocket. He’d taken to always carrying it around ever since Remus had gone off to America to search for Harry. Last time Remus had called him, he’d told him about some plan of getting the locator spell on his godson. But that was days ago, days in which Remus hadn’t picked up the mirror whenever Sirius tried to call him._ _

__“Moony,” Sirius said, feeling anxious and excited. “Did you do it? Have you found him? When are you coming back? Is he-” He stopped himself when he took a good look at Remus’ face - his best friend looked just as anxious as Sirius felt, which wasn’t a good sign. “What is it?”_ _

__“We lost him,” Remus said gravely, his voice hushed. “We were waiting for Albus to arrive when suddenly, the spell told us that Harry was on the move. That’s why I’m calling, and I don’t care what the others say: Padfoot, he was in London before the spell broke.”_ _

__For a few long moments, Sirius couldn’t think straight. He’d _hoped_ to hear some good news. Well, Harry being in London _was_ good news, but now he wasn’t? “So what does that mean? The spell broke? Where exactly was he?”_ _

__“It looks like someone managed to counter the locator spell,” Remus replied. Through the mirror, a couple of voices could be heard in the background - one male and highly annoyed, one female and baffled. “It’s just a couple of minutes ago. You got something to write on? I’ll give you the address where he’d been last before we lost him.”_ _

__Sirius jumped to his feet, lunch forgotten. Kreacher was staring at him, visibly unamused, but Sirius was already on his way to the parlor. “I got some,” he basically shouted into the mirror, hastily grabbing some stationary and an old Muggle biro. “When are you coming back?”_ _

__“Albus has managed to get a Portkey set up to go in another hour - it was the earliest he could manage,” Remus said before giving Sirius the address. “I’ll stay here for a bit longer, though - he might come back here.”_ _

__“Thanks, Moony. I owe you big time,” Sirius breathed. The mirror blanked out when he put it down on the study. With the piece of parchment in hand, he hurried into a pair of boots and his favourite, worn leather jacket before grabbing the keys of his old motorbike._ _

__“Kreacher, I’m out!”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 3553


	5. Walking In The Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walking In The Air - Aurora

**June 26th, 2015**  
Granger Residence

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair, taking a moment to observe the mess that was her room. Both Mr Stark and Harry had left the house around fifteen minutes ago and Ginny had done the same just now, apparating back to the Burrow with a surprisingly quiet crack.

Stretching, Hermione couldn’t help but feel thankful for that - the day had been pretty exhausting for her. With Mr Stark looking over her shoulder and asking a hundred questions (not all of them about Arithmancy - he was very interested in ways to keep unwanted visitors off of his property), she’d felt a lot of pressure to dismantle the spell correctly. And what a tricky one it had been - someone very skilled had stitched it together and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder who’d done it.

It wasn’t an easy feat, even for someone magical, to break into a well-guarded house, after all. And if Mr Stark had told her the truth, that person even got caught in the end despite their skilled attempt.

“I should really call Miss C,” she murmured to herself and rubbed her tired eyes. Before she could bring herself to get her phone, however, she heard the doorbell ringing, followed by a muffled _“I’ll get that!”_ from her father.

A quick look at the clock had Hermione frowning. It was only the early evening, but it was rare for someone to visit at this hour. She wondered about it for a few moments, but then a pair of raised voices had her jump to her feet. The voice of her father was easily recognizable, but the second one, male and a bit aggressive, had her confused by the familiarity.

“…can’t just come in-”

“...know that he’s here-”

“-call the police-”

“-try me!”

She was out of her room in a second, her wand clutched in one hand as she hurried down the stairs. “What’s going on?” she cried out, ready to help her father against some unknown intruder, but when she saw the man standing in the door, she skidded to a halt, eyes going wide. _“Sirius?”_

“Hermione?” His answer sounded just as baffled as Hermione’s own call - whatever he was doing here, he clearly hadn’t expected her to be here as well. At least the surprise managed what her father’s posturing hadn’t achieved - Sirius visibly deflated, his angry scowl smoothing out to a _very_ confused expression.

“Hermione, darling, you _know_ this guy?” her father asked. He didn’t sound very amused, which had her cringing.

“That’s Sirius Black. Draco’s cousin,” she explained and crossed the distance, putting her wand away. Her mother was frowning at her, phone already in hand but not yet calling the police. “Although I can’t remember telling you where I live,” she added and crossed her arms firmly in front of her chest. The timing was peculiar and Hermione didn’t know what to think about this, which set her a bit on edge.

Ginny’s little theory was prominent in her mind as she watched Sirius’ eyes shift this way and that before settling on her.

“Moony gave me the address,” he said finally and pushed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Didn’t know it was yours. So, where is he?”

 _He,_ Hermione thought and felt her heart miss a beat. _He’s talking about Harry, isn’t he? Could Ginny be right?_

“Let’s talk outside. Dad, Mom, I’ll be right back. Sirius, apologize.”

“I’m not sure if that’s fine, darling,” her father replied as he watched Sirius warily. “Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Listen here,” Sirius started - and promptly deflated again when Hermione gave him a sharp glare. “I’m just searching for my godson. You- a friend of mine told me he was here, half an hour ago.”

“Maybe it was one of your visitors, Hermione? That young man?” her mother said as she tried to calm everyone down. Putting the phone away, she tugged at her husband’s hand. “Let them talk, Richard.”

 _“Fine._ But stay in the front yard where I can keep an eye on you both.”

“That’s alright, Dad,” Hermione said firmly when Sirius opened his mouth, cutting him off before he could say something stupid. “Right, Sirius?”

“Right,” the man said with a scowl and finally walked out. Hermione followed him, knowing that at least her father would stay at the door and watch them through the spyhole.

With a sigh, Hermione led Sirius a few paces away from the door. “Now, what was that about?” she asked despite having a very good idea. It had never been much on her mind, but Sirius had been in Azkaban because someone falsely accused him of betraying the war heroes James and Lily Potter and of killing Muggles. None of that had been true, of course, but Hermione had never considered what it meant for him: That he’d still been one of James Potter’s best friends and the named godfather of the vanished Boy-Who-Lived.

Who might’ve been, maybe, possibly, in her house not too long ago.

“You tell me,” Sirius said with a snap to his voice, looking tensely at her. “All I know is that Harry somehow got found overseas and Dumbledore arranged for an updated tracking spell. And then he’s here in Britain and the spell is dismantled - right here, Hermione. So, where’s Harry?”

“Not here anymore, obviously,” Hermione replied, feeling a bit testy herself. “And before you ask: No, I didn’t know who he was. He came here and asked for help. A… mutual acquaintance brought him here.”

For a brief moment, Sirius’ grey eyes shone bright with anger, but Hermione refused to back down. Glaring right back, she watched as Sirius struggled to get his emotions under control, something that had always been hard for him since they’d known each other.

“So he’s not here anymore?” he finally asked and he sounded so dejected, now that all the bluster was gone.

“No,” Hermione said and softened her own expression. “I truly didn’t know who he was, Sirius. Besides… are you all sure that it’s him? The man that came here, he…” She hesitated for a moment. “Sirius, you know about the Avengers, right? What they do - what happened in Greenwich and in New York?”

“You mean those hero people? I heard about them in the Muggle news sometimes, when I visited Moony. But what’s that to do-”

“The Harry that was here today was from space, Sirius,” Hermione blurted out, no longer concerned how it would sound. “Like Thor - so I need to know how you’re so sure that it’s him. That he’s Harry Potter.”

They stared at each other for long moments, Hermione waiting and Sirius gobsmacked. Finally, the older man shook his head as if to clear it, one hand reaching up to rub his temples. “There was an old spell,” he said haltingly. “One that didn’t work for a long time, but… a couple of weeks ago, it started working again. It was pretty weak, though.”

“A spell?”

“A tracking spell. Others, too. Dumbledore put them on Harry after-” Sirius seemed to choke on the words, but Hermione could already imagine what he meant. And it made sense - the war hadn’t been properly over yet, with You-Know-Who dead, so the child had needed a lot of protection. And if Dumbledore had cast the spells himself, it was no wonder that at least one of them had started to work again even after more than a decade.

Sucking in a deep breath, Hermione couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. Ginny’d been right with her little theory - Mr Stark’s Harry had truly been Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. And the people searching for him…

“Oh _Merlin,”_ she gasped, eyes going wide. Sirius startled and put a hand on her shoulder, but she barely noticed. “I took off Professor Dumbledore’s spell, didn’t I?”

“I think it was Tonks who cast it,” Sirius said, patting her shoulder clumsily. “But Dumbledore made it, yes.”

“Shit,” she said, feeling both proud and mortified at the same time. If there was an occasion to swear, this was it. “Oh, this isn’t good.”

“It’s their own fault for being so damn secretive.”

Hermione snorted unwillingly, but it helped to loosen the tension she felt. Taking in a deep breath, she looked up to Sirius, noticing not only his expecting eyes, but also the dark shadows underneath them. Tired, but too full with anxious energy - she knew that feeling well. “Ginny and I have his phone number,” she said and watched as Sirius’ eyes widened. “And he was very interested in visiting again - Ginny wants to show him Diagon Alley and all that.”

“Can you call him?” Sirius immediately asked, his whole body fidgeting. “Can you- can you tell him about me?”

“I can tell you when he comes back,” she replied. “Look, we promised to keep quiet about him. Ginny, she… well, she saw this scar on his forehead and kind of told him all about Harry Potter. He didn’t believe a thing, mind you, so telling him outright about a supposed godfather wouldn’t help right now. But maybe you can come with us? And just- try and see how it goes?”

Sirius looked torn, mouth twisted and expression shifting between different emotions. But then he sighed and nodded. “It’s better than nothing,” he said and gave her a small smile. “You want me to run interference with Dumbledore?”

“That’d be nice. And Sirius - don’t worry too much. He seemed fine.”

Finally, his expression cleared up - there was a small amount of relief in his eyes, mingled with disappointment and excitement. A proper smile, however, was quick to lighten up his handsome features.

“So… what’s he like?”

~~~

 **June 26th, 2015**  
Avenger’s Compound

“So, what you’re saying is that… you’ll stay here?”

Peter didn’t know what exactly he felt when Harry nodded, tablet balanced on his knee, one hand resting on it and ready to type. Gamora’s face looked as complicated as his own emotions.

Harry’s decision wasn’t something he could just shrug off. It was a bit unfair of him, to not be happy about Harry finally finding other mages. And on Earth, of all planets! He should be happy. But he was loath to leave his little brother behind after the whole debacle with Azalel. He wanted to keep an eye on him and he knew that Gamora felt the same way.

The other Guardians weren’t as biased, however - Rocket clearly didn’t care one way or another, and both Drax and Mantis nodded along as if they knew exactly what this was about. Peter doubted that, but at least Mantis seemed genuinely happy at Harry’s chance to learn more about his gift. The young woman had blossomed since they’d met up with the Avengers, her new friendship with that Wanda Maximoff paying off big when it came to her own abilities.

“We could stay here,” he started, mind still whirling from the fact that his home planet, his Earth, Terra - that his _home_ produced genuine magical people. “While you do your thing.”

“We can’t, Peter.” Gamora looked still troubled, but her expression was now firm, jaw set and mouth pressed into a fine line. “Not for months.”

“Yeah, we’re almost broke as is and the Quadrant can’t stay suspended forever. We need to fill our tanks and Terra ain’t having the stuff,” Rocket agreed, plucking a tiny wayward leaf off of Groot’s shoulder. “We need to at least make it back to a more civilized place.” He grinned nastily when Peter glared at him.

“But we can, um, we can stay here. In the galaxy, I mean. That way we’re only a few days away if there’s trouble.”

“I’m first gonna take a good look at these guys,” Yondu chipped in - neither he nor Kraglin had argued against Harry. “Few more days ain’t hurting none - go call them, tell’em that I’m coming too.”

_“You're blue,” _Harry wrote. Kraglin snorted loudly at that, even after Yondu cuffed him harshly. _“Get Stark to give you one of his disguise toys. And I’m not going before I’ve talked with Wanda. She should be back in two days.”___

__“Enough time, then,” Gamora said, her eyes meeting Peter’s. He swallowed at the expression in them, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable._ _

__“For what?” he asked and didn’t care that he already sounded defensive. It didn’t go unnoticed - Rocket snickered and Harry gave him a quizzical look before his face cleared out with understanding._ _

__“Oh, are we going to visit Peter’s old home, then?” Mantis asked cheerfully, bringing her hands together._ _

__“We’re not-”_ _

__“Yes, we are,” Gamora interrupted him with a smile that was as sweet as it was sharp. “That’s why we’re here, after all. Despite other… circumstances, or new revelations.” She nodded towards Harry, who tried to hide a wince at her words. “And no, Peter, there are no excuses this time.”_ _

__His chest felt tight, but he couldn’t bail out of this. Not after all the shit that happened, all for the sake of bringing him all the way to Terra._ _

__He didn’t even know where his mom had been buried, for fuck’s sake. It was time, wasn’t it?_ _

__“Friday, can you check something out for us?” he asked loudly, his heart pounding hard in his chest. Hopefully, his voice didn’t sound as rough as he feared._ _

__“Of course,” the artificial, female voice said with an airy tone._ _

__“Meredith Quill. I- I want to know where she was buried.” He almost choked on those words, but a firm hand on his shoulder was just enough to go through this. He didn’t need to look to know that it was Yondu’s who was holding him steady._ _

__“I’ve sent the address of the cemetery to Harry’s Stark Pad,” Friday said after just a moment. The airy tone had softened a bit - Stark really was quite something, building emoting A.I.s. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts back into a semblance of order, Peter shrugged Yondu’s hand away._ _

__“Let’s do this, then.” He didn't ask about his grandfather's grave. Peter had barely coped with his mother's death and that had been decades ago; it still felt like a constant open wound. His grandfather... he'd left him behind. He'd left him alone and never returned to see him, to make sure he'd survived the loss of _his daughter.__ _

___And the loss of his grandson,_ Peter thought bitterly._ _

__~~~_ _

__**June 27th, 2015**  
Avenger’s Compound_ _

__“So we have an old castle with what looks like actual _candles_ as a light source…”_ _

__“At least in the pictures that were on the tablet. There was one of a larger group of students in front of a fireplace.”_ _

__“And leather-bound books made from actual parchment, yes?”_ _

__“Yup. I asked, although Hermione said that most of it doesn’t come from animals.”_ _

__Bruce startled a bit, but instead of trying to ask Tony for specifics, he simply noted his question down. Between the two of them, they’d created a rather disturbingly long list of questions and notes - Bruce had only ever seen the pictures Tony had extracted from a Stark Pad years ago, and despite having spent a day with two genuine witches, the futurist hadn’t even managed to scratch the surface of this secret magical society._ _

__Not that Bruce could begrudge him that - faced with actual magical mathematics and the opportunity to learn something of it, Tony had made the sensible choice of mostly sticking to that topic. He’d even gotten a book out of it, which had been passed between them numerous times now. Picking it up from the coffee table again, Bruce took another long look at the smooth leather and the gilded letters of the title. _The Magic of Numbers: Arithmancy for Beginners_ was a very well-written book, obviously meant for children to understand the theories listed in it._ _

__“It really sounds like a society stuck in the past,” he said a bit helplessly. “Which doesn’t fit your description of the two girls _at all._ I think we can’t get any further without more information.”_ _

__“Yeah… I’m just glad that Harry decided to stick with us for a bit longer. He’s our insider once they accept him.” Tony sighed and stretched a bit - the man could hunker down in front of a computer or bits of scrap metal for days, but sitting and talking with nothing to show for it but more questions, that was taking a clear toll on him._ _

__“It would be nice to know more, that’s a given. The possibilities alone-”_ _

__“It’s mind blowing, isn’t it?” Tony gave Bruce a wide grin that he replied to with a smile of his own. “Especially when it turns out that this Ginny girl was right and Harry’s part of it. At least in their eyes. He can learn their tricks or at least find someone to put some defences on my properties. I don’t want another magical incident.”_ _

__“But it could also be the reason why he’d been singled out by that invader,” Bruce pointed out as he put the book back down. He wanted to read it front to back, so much so that his fingers were itching to grab it again, but Tony was still a bit anxious looking, despite his clear excitement. “From what you said, his namesake is a big deal.”_ _

__“So am I,” Tony said with a shrug. “I know the risks. We’re going in disguise.”_ _

__Bruce blinked twice before frowning. “You’re going with him?” he asked incredulously. “Tony, we don’t know these people. You only met two young girls and one hostile, who knows how they’ll react when they notice you - you’re not a witch.”_ _

__“It would be ‘wizard’, not witch,” Tony said and winked. “And yes, I’m going. I have a good feeling about this and Harry doesn’t care either way. There are _bookshops,_ Bruce - and a bank that does currency exchanges! Speaking of, you want to come, too?”_ _

__“Of course I don’t want to,” Bruce automatically denied, no matter how alluring it sounded. “Not before I don’t know more about it. I’m a ticking bomb as it is, Tony, I don’t need to go exploring.”_ _

__“But Brucey-Bear,” came the expected whining that had Bruce snorting. “What am I to do without my favourite scientist at my side?”_ _

__“How about being careful for a change?”_ _

__“Oh please, I’m _always_ careful.”_ _

__Before he could answer to this monumental lie, the door to the communal room opened and both men looked up and around to see Steve standing there, warily looking around._ _

__It looked a bit ridiculous if Bruce was honest - Steve didn’t quite lend himself to be stealthy at the best of times with his impressive body shape. The fact that he _was_ trying to be cautious only drew in more attention._ _

__Tony seemed to be thinking the same and snickered. “Cap, you looking for something?”_ _

__“Just making sure that Peter isn’t here,” Steve replied and finally let himself fully in. “I just came back from New York and haven’t seen him. Usually that guy finds me everywhere and it’s making me really nervous.”_ _

__“Oh, they’re gone for today,” Bruce explained and nudged Tony with one foot when his friend didn’t stop snickering. “They took their ship, I think they were headed to Missouri?”_ _

__“Yeah. Yeah, I think they’re visiting Peter’s-” Tony finally stopped grinning like a mad man, his expression sobering up quickly. “His mother’s grave. They’re visiting his mother’s grave.”_ _

__“Oh.” Steve’s open face fell a bit. “That’s right. He told me he’s from Missouri.”_ _

__“Hmh…” Bruce eyed the blonde man for a moment before gesturing to one of the many free seats around the cluttered coffee table. “Steve, would you like to see some magic?”_ _

__“Bruce?” Tony frowned, but Bruce just smirked._ _

__“Well, you were looking for someone to go with you, weren’t you? And Steve can carry more books than I can.”_ _

__Tony’s eyes gained a calculating glint as both scientists turned around to eye up Steve’s impressive body._ _

__“I think he’ll do fine,” Tony decided._ _

__“Um, guys… what?”_ _

__~~~_ _

__**June 27th, 2015**  
Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts_ _

__“Ah, Sirius! Come in, come in,” Albus said in greeting when the fire in his office turned an emerald green and Sirius Black walked out of it. With a wave of his wand, the soot and ash vanished from the man’s clothing._ _

__“Thanks. So, what’s this for then?”_ _

__Albus, who was about to call for some tea, hesitated momentarily before exchanging a look with Severus, who was sitting on one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Sirius sounded way too chipper. It reminded Albus of a time long gone. The Potions Professor raised one eyebrow - something was up then._ _

__“Please take a seat first. A spot of tea, maybe?” A set was conjured from the kitchens, complete with fresh scones, thick berry jam and clotted cream. “I just wanted to bring you up to date with our… search.”_ _

__Sirius, who was just about to take a seat, stopped for a moment before gingerly sitting down. “Remus had kept me pretty much informed,” he said with a nonchalant air. “Like how you lost him again.”_ _

__“Which was no fault of ours. The boy somehow managed to find very… competent help.” Severus was staring at Sirius as if searching for any kind of reaction. “Someone who managed to undo the spell.”_ _

__Despite his first suspicious cheeriness, Albus now had a hard time getting a read on Sirius’ face. Oh, he was definitely hiding something, but what exactly, Albus couldn’t say. “At least we know the area where it’d been done,” he said instead and served the tea in three cups, adding a bit of sugar to his own. “We’ll go there later today - he’s likely gone already. It’s a Muggle address as far as we know.”_ _

__“Mostly,” Sirius replied, causing Albus to interrupt his first sip. “It’s actually Hermione Granger’s home.”_ _

__“Granger?” Severus repeated slowly, not touching his own cup yet. After Sirius’ nod, he scoffed. “So the wolf told you the address and you immediately went there?”_ _

__“Of course I did,” was the prompt answer. “I gave you a week and got nothing out of it.”_ _

__“And what, pray tell, did you get out of your little stunt?”_ _

__“Severus,” Albus said reproachfully, but he didn’t miss the little smirk on Sirius’ lips or the smug look in his grey eyes._ _

__“A contact,” Sirius said with satisfaction. “And don’t try to go bother Hermione - she only told me what happened because I’m his godfather. But it turns out that Harry and she have a mutual friend and that’s how he went to her to get rid of the tracking spell. Clever girl, she did it in a few hours.” He beamed at them and Albus couldn’t help but feel pride for his former student. Miss Granger had been exceptional throughout her whole school career._ _

__Severus looked like he wanted to strangle either her or Sirius. His glare only got worse when Sirius started to spread clotted cream on a scone. “Maybe you should tell us more about this ‘contact’ instead of stuffing your face,” the man hissed._ _

__“Or I can eat my fill and then leave, how about that, Snivellus?”_ _

__“Sirius,” Albus said sharply, interrupting both men just as Severus’ face turned a nasty reddish colour. “I would think that you’re as aware as we all are about what happened during the last task of the Triwizard Tournament and _who_ is currently running free. You’re not the only one who has an interest in the boy, especially since we still don’t know who has hidden him for the last years.”_ _

__“Low blow, Albus,” Sirius said, but his vicious expression faded into worry. Sighing, he slumped back and took a bite from his scone. “But I get it. There’s some news for you, if that makes you happy: He’s going to come back to Britain because he wants to learn more about Earth’s magic.”_ _

__“Thank you,” Albus replied - and then he stopped, around the same time Severus coughed on his tea. _“Earth’s_ magic?”_ _

__“Yes, Earth’s magic. As in magic on this planet. That’s what he told Hermione - that he’s not from Earth.”_ _

__“Of course he’s from Earth,” Severus snapped, clearly out of his depth. “Maybe his head got hit in that foolish fight in Albany.”_ _

__“Or he spent the last twelve years in space, which fits the whole narrative no matter how crazy that sounds.” Sirius finished his scone in two quick bites before wiping his fingers clean. “And after shit hit the fan back in 2012, I’m not going to call bullshit on that story. There are aliens out there and the blood ward’s trace went up to the sky. That’s why the tracking spell didn’t work when the monitoring spell worked just fine, Albus - he was just too far away. And now he came back and through some fortunate events he came to Hermione and I’ll see him again when they’re going to go to Diagon Alley and none of you are going ruin that for me!”_ _

__For a few long moments, neither of them spoke. Severus was just staring at Sirius, half in disbelief and half calculating - Albus knew that the man wouldn’t easily accept those things from Sirius Black, but he wouldn’t discard the information either. _And what a thing to consider,_ he thought tiredly. _No wonder we never managed to find him. And the implications as well…__ _

__“Maybe it’s for the best,” he finally said, ignoring for now Severus’ sputter. “I’ll insist on some people to watch out for you, Sirius. I’d like to make sure that nobody will attack the boy. If it’s tutoring he wants, I’d ask you to send him our way, however.”_ _

__“Albus,” Severus started before stopping himself, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ll volunteer,” he then finished. “The wolf and Miss Tonks are still on standby in New York, something they’re sure to enjoy now that they’re alone.”_ _

__“I’m not taking you. At least not without some Polyjuice.”_ _

__“As it is, I’m just fresh out of it.” Now it was Severus’ turn to look smug, his pallid face showing a smirk. Albus hesitated for another moment, but… Sirius wasn’t the only one who had looked forward to this._ _

__“I think a Professor out shopping to stock up early won’t draw any questions. Now, Sirius, make sure to tell us the date and time.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 4459


	6. I Won’t Complain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Won’t Complain - Benjamin Clementine
> 
> AN: This one was a bit like pulling teeth. Sorry for the late update. As always, a big thank you to cb3 and EssayOfThoughts, who are wondrously fast and amazingly helpful when it comes to editing the chapters!
> 
> Essay wrote some key passages in this chapter. Can you find which one?

**June 27th, 2015**  
A Cemetery in Missouri

Gamora didn’t quite know how to feel. She remembered her own parents only vaguely - blurry faces and soothing voices that had haunted her in her childhood years. The day of the culling was burnt into her memories, but most of those were of the soldiers and Thanos himself. She hated it, with all of her being she hated the fact that Thanos had overridden her care for her own flesh and blood with his gentle hands and quiet words and the little dagger he’d gifted her as half of her people had been slaughtered.

She knew that Peter remembered his mother better. He’d been older than her when Meredith Quill had succumbed to her cancer. Her death had haunted him with the same gravity that the day of the culling haunted her, but she didn’t know what to do or feel as she looked at him standing at the simple gravestone.

Stroking over the metal band around her wrist that disguised her green skin, her glance turned towards Harry, who was standing closer to Peter than even she or the other Guardians. The little cemetery was odd for all of them - most races didn’t bury their dead. But here they were, standing solemnly at the side as Peter finally got to say goodbye.

“I wish I could kill him again,” he suddenly said and Gamora didn’t have to ask who he meant. Ego was still a fresh wound for Peter. A father that had killed his mother, had tried to kill them all in his delusion of grandeur.

This she could understand very well. Thanos had been her father, too, in a sick and twisted way. Cutting herself free from his manipulations had left her raw and hurting and it had taken a long time with her new family to heal those wounds.

But before she could say anything, Drax shuffled forward and put one hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze and a strong pat that had Peter almost step on the grave. “Me too,” he said. “But they’re both dead now.”

Gamora’s mouth twisted into a tense line. Leave it to Drax to remind her that they all were scarred in their own way. “He’s right, Peter,” she added and managed a smile for him when he turned around. His eyes were dry, but they looked red and puffy all the same. “He’s dead. He deserved something worse, but at least now he can’t hurt anyone else.”

She stepped forward just a moment later, hands already outstretched as the tears finally came. Peter crashed into her arms, hugging her tight, and she caught all of him, carrying him when his own legs gave out and his hug turned desperate. Groot, who’d ridden on her shoulder, cooed and patted Peter’s head as he sobbed against the crook of Gamora’s neck, and then they all came forward, hands reaching out for both of them, touching and giving comfort and sharing the weight as best as they could.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Peter cried and it was too easy to see him as this little boy, alone and afraid and not daring to grieve. She met Yondu’s eyes, which looked uncharacteristically stricken, his jawline tense and eyes fixed on Peter who was still chanting. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…”

For minutes, that was all they could do: let him cry it out. Even Drax looked a bit teary-eyed and Rocket couldn’t look any of them in the eyes when the sobbing slowly came to a stop and changed into shaky breathing.

“Peter?” Gamora asked softly and cupped his cheek with one hand. The sight of her disguised skin against Peter’s face still startled her a bit, but she tried to ignore it and wiped away some of the tears staining his face.

“I’m okay,” he managed to say. It was an obvious lie, but Gamora thought that maybe now he’d have a chance to truly become okay. Like a festering wound that had to be opened and cleaned before it could heal again. “It’s just… a lot right now.”

“I know.” Their eyes met and then he smiled as well, a small and wobbly thing that she wanted to protect with a fierceness that surprised even herself. “Do you want to go back?”

He nodded and wiped away more tears and snot with one hand, not quite letting go of her. “At least someone takes care of her - of her grave,” he murmured as he looked back. Small and simple, with colourful little flowers planted around the gravestone - it was pretty, Gamora thought.

“You still have family here?” Mantis asked, her antennae quivering slightly with the grief in the air.

“Maybe some of Mom’s cousins.” It was said with a shrug, but she could see the small spark in his eyes.

“We could find them,” she offered, but he was already shaking his head, taking a few deep breaths.

“Not- not now. We can do that later when we come back to get Harry. I don’t think that I can.”

They didn’t linger for much longer - only a couple of minutes later, the group marched back towards the edge of the cemetery and further still towards the small woods where they’d hidden the Downfall. Gamora looked back only once, hesitating for a moment when she saw an old Terran staring at the lot of them from a distance.

“Gamora?”

“Coming,” she said and walked on.

~~~

 **June 28th, 2015**  
Avenger’s Compound

Harry didn’t remember when he’d last thought of what he might’ve left behind on the day of his kidnapping. The memories of his early days in the Temple, the memories of his initial kidnapping, everything before that - they were sparse and blurry and more akin to nightmares. Sounds, smells, the sense of terror… he never liked to dwell on them and then gave it up completely during the time he accepted the Ravagers as his new family.

But meeting other mages and watching Peter break down in front of his mother’s grave had brought out that long forgotten question: what did he leave behind?

He knew that he’d not lived with his parents but with his aunt and uncle. He knew that even back then, his life had been bad. But that was it, and it left him restless.

So when Clint and Vision and the Maximoffs returned to the Compound, he approached Wanda not with magic in mind or with the offer to accompany him to Britain.

He approached her when she greeted Mantis, his question already typed out.

“Are you sure?” she asked, watching him calmly. “I might see things that you don’t want to share.”

_“But you can do it, right? Look for things I forgot about?”_

She nodded and Harry sighed with relief. _“Then that's good enough for me. I just want to make sure. Get to know where I come from and all that.”_

“So there’s nothing I should avoid?”

He hesitated for a moment as he met Wanda’s eyes. Then he shook his head, fingers moving over the translucent screen of his pad.

_”There are things you shouldn’t see. Not because they’re a secret, but you heard about Gamora and me.”_

He’d already made his peace with what’d happen to him there - with what’d happen to all of the kids under Father’s rule.

But someone like Wanda… he didn’t know how it would affect her. And there were also those few things he wanted to keep close to his chest - things that weren’t meant for others to know, not even a young woman from a small planet in a who-knows-where part of this galaxy. 

Better not risk it. _“How does it work? Do I see what you see?”_ His fingers were flying over the screen, Wanda’s and Mantis’ eyes following his alien script and the swift translation. _“Or do you just… sift through my head?”_

“It is... hard to explain,” Wanda replied. “From a distance, I can... glimpse surface thoughts - get an idea of what someone is paying attention to. It is mostly useless. But if I make contact with someone’s mind then I can do other things. I can set loose emotions or I can seek them out and if someone is focussing on a thought I can... follow it and find associated thoughts - related memories of the same thing or which have the same emotions. This is not... it is not subtle unless they are sleeping; the emotions of the memories will be sensed, but they are not at the surface of things.”

Harry blinked, trying to take it all in. It was hard to follow, let alone imagine and didn’t sound like Mantis’ power either, which was all about the management of emotions.

“If you are focussing on the memories you want me to see, verify and find related ones for, that would be easiest. Then I just have to follow the threads. But if you have no memories and you want me to search then I would have to... To guess, to dive in directly and trawl through your mind. If you have forgotten the memories, or if they are old and buried ones-” She sighed, glancing off in the direction of her brother. When next she spoke she sounded apologetic. “It is not comfortable. It is not easy. If there is- if there is trauma associated with the memories, you will be reminded of it.”

For a few moments, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen in that case. Azalel’s death had already been tough, although Yondu and Kraglin’s presences and even the trip to Britain had helped him to feel comfortable in his own skin again. Maybe this would prolong his silence - maybe it would make his nightmares worse.

Maybe he’d get lost in those memories, forgetting where he was for a time.

But while he didn’t want any of that, the urge to finally find a clue about his origins was too strong to not risk it. There was no way he could go back to simply wondering about it. No way to forget Peter’s tears over his dead mother.

 _“It’s okay,”_ he wrote slowly. _“I can handle it. Just… be careful where you go, what you look at. It won’t be nice.”_

“I’ll be careful. I promise,” Wanda said with a firm nod. After a moment of looking into her honest eyes, Harry sighed and took a seat, his posture still rigid.

It was hard to relax when someone was about to mess with his mind, even after he gave them permission.

“Can’t I help?” Both Harry and Wanda turned around to look at Mantis, who was watching them both with her huge, dark eyes. She had an expression on her face that Harry knew - she wanted to help, to be useful. And for a moment or two, he didn’t want to let her. One person having to see what he saw, to feel what he felt, was more than enough.

Only that Mantis, for all of her innocence and almost hopeless naivety, had already seen a lot of dark things. Especially with Drax, whose life was filled with hardship as well. And yet she’d retained her child-like nature with almost no problems.

Her steadiness and her experience with great negative emotions would come in handy. Not for him, since Harry didn’t think himself to be so fragile, no matter his ongoing silence. He knew exactly what kind of things they all might see. But Wanda - her he didn’t know as well. She could suffer from his past.

 _“Thank you, Mantis. I would like that. Can I close my eyes?”_ he typed - and then he turned his pad off and did just that after Wanda confirmed it.

“I’ll start now.” Wanda’s voice was low and close, directly in front of him. Mantis took a seat next to Harry, dipping the couch a bit with her weight and placing one warm, dainty hand on his left arm. “As I said, this will feel … strange. If you can, focus on the memories you want me to start with. It’ll make it easier.”

It was hard, for a moment, to do so - the presences of Wanda and Mantis close by and Pietro hovering behind Wanda were distracting him. He took a deep breath - and then Harry felt the hands hovering close to his temples; the brush of something strange and foreign against his skin.

 _The dark, small place,_ he thought to himself, bringing up the blurry memories from long ago. _The angry face. Loud voices…_

And the foreign thing slipped forward.

~~~

The first few memories came in a flurry; Wanda could tell Harry was trying to focus on something specific but for whatever reason his thoughts couldn’t grasp the memory clearly. Instead there were many fragments, flipping past almost too fast to see - grey and gold aliens, Chitauri, terror chasing at the edges. A strange figure, shadowed and tall, dark teeth, ominous. A huge space, stretching away - apprehension coloured this memory while the others had mostly been drowned in fear. Here the memories started to clarify, to slow down and take shape - meals; simple beds in rows; other faces, some blurred and others standing out in stark relief, but all of them young (fleetingly, briefly, rapidly tucked away: the face of the Blinder, younger and more innocent).

She should have expected the next switch, but it happened too quickly - that one familiar face and then an open space, the sky dark and volatile with sandy ground the colour of dried blood, some ragged figure chained tight to a pole. The memory was fragmentary; she felt more than saw Harry being shoved forward, a rumbling voice ordering _kill_ in a language she didn't know and had never heard, but Harry knew, Harry understood.

It was easier to get a grasp from there, as Harry's thoughts briefly stuttered in hate-horror-fuck-no at the image and reached past that thread to the origin of the current one, to the place - Temple - to before the Temple - a ship, like the one Harry came in - to before even that and suddenly the thoughtscape shifted, no longer disturbing spaces but an open road, houses on either side. It was a nice neighbourhood though the sky was darkening to dusk and she could see, clearly, figures at a distance.

Some memories were like this and she'd never understood why - hoped that, one day, she would find out. Some were first person, through the person’s own eyes and senses, and some were detached, lost.

She thought she understood why she was stood at a distance here, watching Harry running, ratty clothing but swift as a knife - swift as Pietro ever was at that age - dodging and ducking as the boys _yelled_ and _reached_ and she tugged the thread again.

With the next shift, she was back looking out of Harry’s eyes, and it was striking how small he’d been, how tall and looming everything appeared around him. Even more striking was the sudden sadness washing over the memory. After all that fear and anger it was like a shock to her system and it took Mantis’ calming presence, suddenly there with her, to notice more than that.

Like how mundane the kitchen looked. The smell of something burnt, the woman standing impossibly tall in front of her, words forming on her lips, cutting words of _useless, burden, freak._ In the background she could only just hear music, tinny and soft as a male voice serenaded about a lost love _(I’ll give you jewellery and money, too - that ain’t all, that ain’t all I’ll do for you…)._

This time, Harry didn’t stutter so much as he shied away from this, of the implications, and the memory slipped away, slipped between others that flurried up like leaves in the wind - the woman and another man, him and Gamora dancing, a small dark space that was painted in loneliness, a cage and red light, children _(brothers)_ stood in a row -

The memory twisted, the memory warped and the next image came to her swamped in emotion - Harry was older now, stood in an arena - _the Pit,_ whispered the memory - his instructor barking at them, himself and one of the younger brothers, and she could feel how Harry’s stomach twisted even as he tried to steel himself against it because he _hated_ it, hated it even more than he feared it - _hates it still, hates it_ \- but he couldn’t let himself fall and fail, because he _knew_ now, knew what would happen if he did and that desperate desire to survive, to _perservere_ until he could put it to use, made him jump forward, made him hit and kick and strike out with a blade and Wanda tried to pull herself out of it, the swimming morass of emotion as heady and thick as her own scarlet, two terrified boys struggling to win, pain blooming on Harry’s side, Harry still determined as his knife found its target, as the warmth of blood splashed his hand, as the other boy _screamed-_

And then she felt Mantis there, reaching to pull her out, to remind her that this wasn’t her, to push down the terror and rage and pain until she felt like herself again. Wanda clung to her presence, still reeling from the shock as she watched the memory being torn away. The scream of the boy turned into the cutting words of that woman into another scream and a flash of bright green light.

_Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy.... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I’ll do anything!_

She blinked, scarlet fading at her fingers and Harry blinked back, blinked and then pressed a hand to his forehead, right above his jagged scar. His hand, Wanda noticed, was trembling.

She wasn’t sure if she was pulled out of his mind or if she removed herself, but she was certain it was the right call. Whatever that fresh cascade was, those thoughts she only grasped the vague energy of before the force of it sent her spiralling, she had no doubt that they were Harry’s and for Harry alone.

“Are you well?” Mantis asked, Pietro already at Wanda’s side, and they were both watching them, worry clearly etched onto their faces.

Wanda took a deep breath, still reeling from what she’d seen, in what she’d almost gotten _lost_ in - those powerful, destructive emotions and even greater determination she’d felt right as the knife sunk into flesh, and she couldn’t help but reach for Pietro’s hands.

“I found something,” she said instead of answering Mantis’ question, after moments of wondering if her voice would be steady. Pietro squeezed her fingers lightly, a silent offer to share the burden, whatever it was. But no - she shook her head once, eyes on Harry again who was meeting her eyes without flinching away.

He knew what she’d seen and she saw no shame in his eyes, only a measure of disbelief and confusion.

“Terra,” he said, his voice quiet and a bit rough from days of disuse and she didn’t know what to make of this, of him speaking again and sounding almost as lost as that young child she’d seen.

Of him not even mentioning all the other things she’d grasped, the things she’d seen in his head.

“Earth,” she confirmed, a velvet singing voice echoing through her own mind in clear English.

 **June 28th, 2015**  
Avenger’s Compound

“Tony?”

Tony cursed as his fingers slipped, already letting go of the armor piece as he turned around. The voice sounded only vaguely familiar, and despite every security measure he’d added since the ‘attack’, he was still reaching for the bracelets that were never that far away from him these days.

When he saw Harry standing there, however, looking a bit pale but with his jaw set, he relaxed a bit, eyes searching for the other person that had called out to him.

There wasn’t another one.

“You free to show me how phones work?” Harry asked, his tablet in his hand but not using it.

“You talk again,” Tony couldn’t help but point out. He grinned when he saw the annoyance on Harry’s face and waved him over. “You gonna call her, then?”

He wanted to ask what happened. Wanted to know what made Harry decide that it was okay again to be vocal. But then, he knew that these things often came and went as they pleased.

Of all the people here, he knew that very well.

“Yeah,” the Ravager replied and his face smoothed out, as if he could sense Tony’s peace offering. “Better not let her wait. ‘Sides, I know that the others are itching to leave. Day after tomorrow sounds good?”

It sounded perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 3517
> 
> Next up is Diagon Alley!
> 
> Question: Should a pet be acquired? If yes, what kind?


	7. A Whole New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Whole New World - Aladdin
> 
> It’s been a while! Sorry for the long wait, real life got the better out of me. As always, thanks to the lovely EssayOfThought and cb3 for their help and patience!

**June 30th, 2015**  
London

“And you really travel like this all the time?”

Harry looked over to Steve Rogers, who was still looking quite dazed despite them landing almost half an hour ago. His awe for flying around in the Downfall left Harry quite amused despite his own anxiety of being in London again, with only Steve and Tony for company.

“Yeah. Up there, though, it’s different.” He nodded towards the bright and blue sky, dotted with soft-looking clouds. “Gravity’s not an issue. Won’t feel how fast ya go.”

Damn, but he wished that Yondu was there. Him or Kraglin. The moment they’d heard him talk again, they’d made it clear that their coddling was over and done with. No holding hands anymore. It had Harry scoffing when Yondu told him that; he didn’t want to be coddled. But a familiar face would’ve been nice, anyway.

“How fast can the ship go, then?”

“Um…” Harry scratched his chin, his fingers brushing against the slight stubble growing there. His other hand already pulled out his handy Stark Pad. He didn’t need it anymore to express himself, but it was still dead useful to translate things for him. Typing in some coordinates for Friday to figure out, he waited until a name popped up. “We made it from Delta Leonis to Terra in, like, a week? That’s a bit higher than average cruiser speed.”

“Wait a hot minute there, magic man,” Tony blurted out after spending the last few minutes looking out for a glimpse of red hair. Like Steve, he was wearing something of a disguise to avoid public attention, which was why he wasn’t wearing one of his more known suits but cargo pants, some sort of soft-looking shoes the man called sneakers and a ridiculous looking hat.

They all were wearing hats, shamelessly so in Tony’s and Harry’s cases while Steve looked fairly embarrassed by his get-up.

“Waiting,” Harry replied with raised eyebrows.

“Brat,” Tony said with a scoff. “Did you just say you travelled from _Delta Leonis_ to _here_ in a _week?”_

Sometimes Harry forgot how backwards Terra was. And to think that he hailed from here… cutting that thought off, he pushed the warm yet jittery feeling it evoked in the back of his head. He'd deal with that later, once he'd had a chance to speak to Ginny Weasley and come to terms with it.

“Yup,” he said instead, grinning toothily at Tony. “Some got faster ships, but those are rare and super expensive. Most don’t bother since we got jump points. You know, back in civilized space.”

“I’ll make you gimme a look at your ship one of these days,” Tony groused and it sounded both jokingly and threatening, causing Harry to snicker. Then the billionaire perked up, eyes slipping off the mage to something farther behind him. “There she is! Who’s that guy, then?”

They were all staring now. Ginny Weasley was wearing a summer dress akin to their first meeting, the soft yellow fitting well with her fiery red hair. Her freckles seemed to have doubled in number, what with the sunny days lately. Her brown eyes gleamed with excitement as she saw the trio. A bit puzzled at the sight of Steve, but not put out.

_Good,_ Harry thought, eyeing the dark-haired man at her side with a mixture of curiosity and wariness himself. _Not that she can talk about bringing other people._ For a moment, his fingers gripped his Stark Pad a bit harder than necessary before he breathed out and stored it away.

“Ginny,” he said and relished in the way she gaped at him. “And definitely not Hermione.”

“Well,” she replied after catching herself, voice a bit brisker and without commenting on his newly acquired speech. Harry couldn’t help but smile when he noticed. Her lips twitched before she set her eyes on Steve’s face. “Hermione’s still working, she’ll join us around lunchtime. This is my good friend, Sirius. Sirius, these are Harry and Tony. And a _delightful_ stranger,” she added thoughtfully.

It made Steve blush and stutter, which was all Harry could wish for, breaking out into a grin. “That’s Steve. Tony said he can carry stuff.”

“I don’t-”

“He can carry _lots,_ but gramps is far too old for you,” Tony interrupted Steve smoothly. “Nice to meet you, yadda yadda. Can we go now?”

“Tony,” Steve hissed while Harry laughed.

“So, does he know?” Harry asked after a few moments, which was when he noticed the transfixed stare Sirius was giving him. It was a bit off-putting, the way the man looked at him - like he was some precious, fragile thing. Annoyance flared up as he met impressive grey eyes set in a handsome face. “What?”

“I-” Ginny’s elbow snapped up and made contact with Sirius, which made him finally stop staring. “Sorry. You just… look like someone,” the man ended lamely.

“I hope so,” Harry replied as his annoyance was replaced with confusion.

“He’s trustworthy,” Ginny said with a pointed look. “And we can go. Just give me a minute.” Rummaging through her bag, she came up with a small, white tube of some sort. “Come here, Harry.”

Still giving this Sirius dude a wary look, Harry stepped up and was immediately crowded by Ginny, who applied some skin-coloured substance onto his forehead. His fingers twitched as he forced himself neither to flinch away nor to hit her, eyes set on her concentrated face. “What’s that?”

“Make-up,” she replied, dabbing her finger once again into the stuff. “Whether or not you believe me, lots of people will make the same assumptions when they see your scar. I want your first trip to end without us being mobbed.”

“About that,” he breathed, the current closeness a good enough cover for him. “You might be right about that. Could I talk to you today?”

She tensed, hand pulling away and eyes snapping up. “Sure,” she said softly and pushed a little mirror into his hand before stepping away. “That should do the trick.”

He was tempted to touch, but instead, he held up the mirror to take a look at his forehead. His scar was barely visible, not even from up-close, carefully hidden behind a thin layer of the paint and the shadow of his floppy hat. “Neat.”

“Yes, it’s perfect, you look gorgeous, but _can we go now?”_ Tony whined.

“We better go,” Harry hummed and looked away from the tiny mirror. “Before Tony wets himself.”

This time, it was Steve who snickered at Tony’s scowl.

~~~

Sirius could count the number of times he’d been speechless on one hand. Meeting his supposed godson definitely made that list.

The young man was chatting away with little Ginny Weasley, sporting Lily’s eyes and nose and James’ jaw and cheekbones and wearing the world’s ugliest floppy hat. Even without a visible scar, it was easy to see both of Harry’s parents in his face.

Harry fucking Potter. His best friend’s son, his _godson,_ with stubble on his chin and foreign clothes on his back and weird, silver lines on his face right next to his eyes and down his neck.

And Sirius didn’t know what to say after his first blunder, didn’t know how to approach him. He could only watch, nervous beyond words.

“You know, it’s a bit creepy how you’re staring at him,” someone said with fake cheer - Sirius could hear the warning underneath.

“What’s it to you?” he asked, voice sharp with irritation when he looked over towards Tony. Tony Stark, if he remembered right. He could hear Hermione’s and Ginny’s voices exclaim about his genius - he’d spend lots of lazy afternoons cooped up with the kids in Hogwarts, mooching off scratches and snacks in his Animagus form while listening in to their chatter.

“Let’s say I’m invested in his well-being. I also know what it’s like to be pestered by fans. Got a lot of those, but I also know how to play a crowd and all, and I doubt he does.”

The question of whether Tony Stark really knew anything about his godson was on the tip of his tongue, but Sirius wasn’t stupid - Harry’d brought that guy with him, same with the other one. Chances are that both knew more than him. Heck, even _Ginny_ did, and wasn’t that fucked up. “I’m not a fan,” he replied, eyes already drifting back to where Harry was laughing, the Leaky Cauldron close by. “I’m… a friend of his parents, if he’s the one we think he is.”

That had Stark quiet for a few moments. “Oh,” he then said, but Sirius doubted that the man really understood all that he meant.

“Yeah. I wanted to see him. A bit obvious, maybe, but- anyway. Take my arm, we’re almost there.”

He flung his arm out for Stark to hold onto, and after another second the man took it. Ginny, Harry and Steve have come to a stop in front of the Leaky Cauldron, with Ginny holding onto Steve’s hand, who was gaping.

Next to him, Stark did the same.

“That wasn’t there before,” he said with something that sounded like frustrated delight. “I hope there are books, I’m buying _so many_ books until I understand this, all of this, mark my words.”

“That’s why we brought Steve, remember?” Harry chimed in and threw a wide grin back over his shoulder. It was for Stark, but Sirius still felt himself going still at the sight. Grinning like that, with abandon and adventure in his eyes, he looked so much like James that it _hurt._

It must’ve shown on his face. Harry’s eyes flickered towards him, eyebrows raising in confusion and a bit of suspicion before he turned away. “We need to change some money, too. Stark’s paying.”

“I feel used,” Stark declared. “Used for my money.”

“There’s a bank, no worries. Just don’t freak out when you see the goblins,” Ginny said, happily ignoring Stark.

“The what?” Steve asked, and then they went into the pub. The moment they were past the enchantments, Sirius brushed off Stark’s hand, but he did notice Ginny keeping her hold onto Steve’s.

The crowd in the pub was your usual fare for a weekend morning - a few hags in a corner, some wizards and witches reading the morning papers, a group of teenage girls in Muggle clothing getting ready for a shopping trip. Tom was manning the bar, as usual, looking up to see if he’d have to attend to more guests but getting back to his chat when Sirius shook his head.

They made their way through the room without much fuss and back into the alley. Stark muttered something about the garbage lying around, but Sirius ignored the man in favour of stepping forward. It was something special, after all, that first trip to Diagon Alley. After all the years of not being there for him, this was his first chance of reconnecting with his godson.

He won’t miss any of it. Not a fucking single thing.

“One step back, please,” he said and it was easier than he’d feared it would be. He’d always been somewhat of an entertainer. Ginny was smiling knowingly and he gave her a grin, his wand jumping into his waiting hand as he flicked his wrist. “Let me open it.”

Touching his wand to the bricks, he couldn’t help but look at Harry again. Their eyes met just as the bricks started to shuffle into a new position. It didn’t last long - just one moment later, Harry’s attention shifted away from Sirius and towards the gateway.

“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Sirius said and he knew he sounded smug, but really, who cared? They were all gasping and gaping now, eyes wide and bodies leaning forward, eager to explore. Steve was blinking rapidly, Stark looked like he wanted to curse and giggle at the same time and Harry…

Harry simply _stared,_ face slack and eyes moving around rapidly to take in as much as he could.

“Well done,” Ginny murmured and gave Sirius a nudge with her elbow before stepping forward. “Come now,” she said, louder this time and towards his godson and his two Muggle friends. “Gringotts first.”

~~~

**June 30th, 2015**  
Diagon Alley, London

Tony wanted to think a bit more about what that Sirius guy had said - about being a family friend of Harry’s supposedly murdered parents. Some part of his brain was dragging up memories of the book he’d skimmed, about the history of a magical war and about James and Lily Potter and their infant child. It was a neat, tidy reason to be here today, joining Ginny Weasley in showing them a slice of their world.

He’d be more worried, more suspicious about it all, if it wasn’t for the _sights_ all around him. Tony knew he should be a lot more careful, but fuck it. He wanted to stick his hands in everything like a kid in a candy store.

“Look at that,” he hissed at Steve, who seemed to be just as overwhelmed and delighted by the whimsical street and its occupants. Tony pointed at a store that sold little beautiful figurines and other toys, all of them moving or glowing or doing other eye-catching things. A little kid (a girl with curly pigtails and a stuffed cat in her arms) was shouting enthusiastically at her parents, pointing at a set of preening little people zipping on tiny _brooms._

Then there was a shop that actually sold full-sized brooms (“Quality Quidditch Supplies”, it read above the entrance, and there were two teenagers looking through the clear glass window) that didn’t look like sweeping brooms. They were glossy and streamlined and _floated_ in mid-air, gently bobbing up and down and Tony wondered if people really flew on brooms, and how hilarious was that, and could he do it, too?

And then they went further along the cobbled street, and Ginny pointed towards another shop front. “Apothecary,” she said, and like most things, it looked like straight from a fantasy movie. He could see shelves and barrels filled with bizarre things. Dragon liver, unicorn hair, an assortment of eyes in all sizes and shapes, strange liquids and animal parts in jars and bottles, and he wanted to go in there so badly, a mountain of questions on his tongue.

“Tony,” Steve said after the third time he had to keep Tony from just walking away from the group. His hand, heavy and grounding on his shoulder, lingered only briefly. “I don’t think they’ll accept dollars here.” There was amusement in his voice, but also understanding and curious yearning to go explore as well, which made it difficult to be angry at him for keeping Tony in line.

“Where’s the bank, then?” he said, a sigh in his voice and he knew he was whining, he didn’t fucking _care,_ he’d seen people defy logic and physical laws at least seven times in just the last ten minutes and he felt an itch underneath his skin to figure out how they did that.

Ginny turned around and gave him a smug smile and Tony knew, he knew that she knew all this and was enjoying it, the little witch. “Just up ahead, the big white building,” she answered and pointed ahead.

“Gringotts,” Sirius joined her, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. There was a good number of people walking around in regular clothing, but most of the older people he saw wore robes in all colours and different styles. Some even mixed both - one young man hurrying past them wore his sky blue robes open, revealing a wrinkled suit underneath it. It was a wild mix and had a taste of transition on it. “It’s run by goblins. Please don’t stare at them, they hate humans enough as is.”

“You said that before,” Tony pointed out and craned his neck to get a look at the crooked, white marble building in the distance. He could see a couple of people standing at the entrance. “Is that a thing here? Goblins? Are we speaking Lord of the Rings goblins?”

“Merlin, no,” Ginny said with laughter in her eyes and a hand in front of her mouth. “And don’t mention that in front of them! I don’t know what they’d do with you,” she added thoughtfully. “Goblins are one of the other sentient magical beings that went into hiding with us. They are vicious and petty, but also really crafty and cunning. Hermione’s convinced that they took over our financials so that the Government won’t dare attack them. There’d been a _lot_ of wars between us and them, but banking pays better I guess.”

Steve looked at him with wide eyes, clearly having just as many new questions on his mind as Tony. When Tony looked over to Harry, however, their currently questionable alien was busy ogling a shop that featured a moving model of the _galaxy_ in a more modern looking shop (“With Zoom Function! Try To Find Your Favorite Stars! Self-Updating Model Of The Milky Way!”).

“Goblins, Harry,” Tony hissed, trying to get his attention and was thoroughly disappointed when Harry just shrugged.

“There’s a lot of different species in space,” he replied after a moment of contemplation. “But it’s kind of neat that Terra has multiple _sentient_ ones in co-existence. That’s really rare, you know? Most times, when that happens, one just…” He makes a gesture across his throat.

“Sounds lovely,” Tony said with a grimace. “But also makes the most sense. I guess magic bends probability as well as laws of nature.”

“It’s mind-blowing. I never really got how me making steel out of wood was something special until I was… taught about chemistry and physics myself.” Harry shook his head a bit, the small stumble in his words accompanied by a tense jawline.

“Can you make everything out of anything?” Steve asked curiously before Tony could.

“No, not really. I tried to make a bunch of silver to sell it, but try as I might, no chance.”

“Eh, that’s normal.” Sirius had obviously listened in and gave them a grin that turned a bit maudlin when he looked at Harry. “You can’t transfigure or conjure noble metals. Gold, silver, copper - the stuff we use in our currency. Except for knuts.” The man tilted his head, blinking once. “Knuts are made out of bronze, not copper. Anyway, it’s the second of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.”

“But why?” Tony asked, his voice hurried in hopes to get some _answers._ “If it’s only noble metals, there must be a defined reason for it. And what kinds of noble metals? Are we speaking of corrosion-resistant metals, or in an atomic physics sense? Can you transfigure, say, rhodium? And how does the tin influences the inert stability of the copper?”

“Er…” The slightly panicked look on Sirius’s face would’ve been funny if it didn’t mean that he had no answers for Tony. It was frustrating, especially when Ginny looked just as confused. “I… have no clue. But I bet you can find some books on it?”

“Damn straight I’ll,” Tony murmured under his breath, a mix of promise and threat to this chaotic world. He needed answers and definitions and rules to work with. And there had to be some, what with there being laws, to begin with.

“Anyway,” Ginny said hurriedly. “Chin up, we’re here. Remember, when someone asks, you’re Harry’s uncle,” she pointed at Tony, who grumbled in displeasure. “And you’re my… cousin,” she said to Steve with a smile. “Squibs, both of you, non-magical relatives. Sirius, can you take Tony and Steve to a teller? I’ll help Harry.”

“But Harry doesn’t have money,” Tony said, just as Sirius looked like he wanted to protest. He got a hopeful look from the man, which was a bit disturbing.

“He might have some,” Ginny simply replied and took Harry’s hand, who followed her bemusedly up the stairs and that was when Tony finally noticed that the people standing there were short and clad in armour and sporting _halberds._

They also were decidedly non-human, if only for their long, pointed ears and sharp teeth that they flashed at the group when they passed them. Tony had to force himself not to stare, but he couldn’t help but notice long, crafty looking fingers tipped with sharp nails, or the fact that their heads were a bit too big for their bodies.

He also didn’t miss the cunning in their beady eyes.

“Enter, stranger, but take heed of what awaits the sin of greed. For those who take, but do not earn, must pay most dearly in their turn. So if you seek beneath our floors a treasure that was never yours, thief, you have been warned, beware of finding more than treasure there.”

“Excuse me?” Tony said, still distracted by having met another _sentient being_ from _Earth,_ which was a lot harder to accept than literal aliens in his own home.

“It’s written above the doors,” Steve explained a bit sheepishly, but then he fell silent upon entering the main hall of the building.

The room they found themselves in was richly decorated, with a high and grand ceiling made out of painted stucco and vaulted glass panes. The walls had a trail of dark, polished wood all around and the floor was laid out with opulent marble tiles that formed an intricate pattern. High-set and long counters ran along the whole length of the hall, manned with even more sharp-eyed goblins who were busy either talking down to humans or counting various precious items. Even Tony, who was rich beyond most measures, did a double-take when he saw one goblin weighing egg-sized gemstones on a golden scale and jotting down numbers with a quill in their hand.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Tony,” Steve said automatically, but he didn’t even sound that reproaching. He just sounded stunned.

“Oh, _come on,_ Rogers, look at this,” Tony replied and just… gestured around. “Tell me again how holy shit isn’t appropriate here.”

That at least got him a look, one that tried to be stern but was really bad at hiding the upwards tug on Steve’s lips. Tony snickered at him.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Steve said with an eye-roll and turned towards Sirius. Harry and Ginny had long since made their way to a free teller and the man was looking quite morose. “Mister… Sirius?”

“Just Sirius is enough,” he said, blinking as his attention shifted back towards Tony and Steve. “Come along then. Try not to mind if the goblins are rude; I think it’s a culture thing to hate us.”

Tony snorted. “Sounds really comforting.” But he followed nonetheless, eyeing the old wrinkled being sitting high up the counter, towering even over _Steve._ “Hello,” he said to the goblin, which earned him a sneer and really, who did that?

“We want to exchange some Muggle money,” Sirius said quickly and gestured towards Tony, who grabbed the prepared wad of money he’d brought along. How anyone could live handling cash was beyond him.

“Do you take American dollars?”

“We do,” the goblin said a bit testily. The plaque sitting in front of him, polished bronze with fancy letters, named him Nagnok. “How much?”

“Depends on the current exchange rate,” Tony said, who could see the interest in Nagnok’s eyes the moment the goblin had seen how thick his stack of bills was. Tony hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to buy _all_ the books.

His question earned him a sharp smile, one that he had seen on countless faces before - it was the smile of people who liked profit and who knew how to get it. “Our current exchange rate for US-Dollars is nine dollars and seventy cents per Galleon, plus a nominal fee for the exchange.”

“Huh,” Tony said and started counting in his head. “Then we’ll start with five grand-”

“Wait a moment,” Sirius interrupted him, which earned him a glare from Nagnok and a startled look from Steve. “It was five pounds twenty-six last week.”

“Rates change,” the goblin said, which had Sirius bristling.

“Surely not so fast. How about I go and fetch today’s _Prophet_ to check myself?”

“Oh boy,” Steve murmured.

~~~

Harry looked down at his hand, still tangled with Ginny’s. She hadn’t let go ever since walking up the stairs to Gringotts, but it didn’t feel like - well, like anything. She had certainly never looked at him like she’d looked at Steve; with appreciation and a bit of interest in her hazel eyes.

It felt reassuringly like dancing with Gamora - a comfort, but nothing else.

“So, what did you mean, I might have some?” he asked with a low voice, not quite sure how sharp those pointed ears of the goblins were. Ginny glanced at him before choosing one of the free tellers.

“Most families have vaults here,” she said and squeezed his fingers before letting go. “Like… bank accounts. They go to the next person in the line of inheritance when people die.”

“You think the Potters have left something here?”

“Maybe. Hopefully. If they did, it might help us prove my little theory, or disprove it entirely.”

Harry hummed, rubbing his fingers, still warm from her hand. “I remembered a bit. Before the kidnapping.”

It made her stop for a moment, if nothing else. But she was a bit like Gamora, a bit like himself even - she kept on walking, shoulders still relaxed. It told a lot about her, really, that she didn’t let surprise hamper her. “Oh?”

“I got curious. So I asked someone, and- the people in the memory spoke English, like you.”

“British English,” Ginny said slowly. She didn’t smile when she looked at him, but there was a determined edge in her eyes. “Do you want to try? See if you are… well, our Harry?”

He nodded, just as they came to a stop in front of their chosen teller, who was looming over them. Despite their large heads and long ears, there was nothing ridiculous about the way the goblins looked. No - they were creatures comfortable in their skin, people who could be quite threatening. It was all in the eyes and the tilt of the head. It was in the way they held their quills and weapons alike and that sharp, sharp smile.

“What do you want?” the goblin asked, and Harry couldn’t help but smile. This was new and exciting and might show him his roots.

It had nothing to do with the things that had his chest still hurting, and he _loved_ it.

“I want the Potter’s vault,” he said before Ginny could speak for him, relishing too much in the fact that he _could,_ that he didn’t swallow his words anymore. “Don’t know how to prove I’m legit, though.”

“Well,” the goblin said, a spark of surprise and distrust in his eyes. “I think we can help with that.”

~~~

Harry looked down onto the parchment. There was a familiar pain where the goblin had nicked his finger, still lingering despite the lack of dark red on the page - he could only see black writing, looping and fanciful, writing out names and more names, mostly from the Potter family and their partners.

It looked so easy, to get this information from a mere few drops of his blood. He remembered the many times The Other had taken some from him, for his DNA, for any hints of where Harry’d come from, in hopes to present Thanos with a planet’s worth of magicians.

“Your parents have left a sizable vault in your name, Mr Potter,” Grishnak the goblin explained. He seemed to be very put out by that, his face crumpled in displeasure. “You’ll be supplied with a new key and the vault will be opened for your use - for a fee, of course,” he added rather viciously.

“Okay,” Harry said before he touched the parchment. It felt dry underneath his finger; not at all like it had been soaked in a potion, as was the explanation for this bit of magic. “Are you _sure_ that this can’t be done with other stuff?”

“Mr Potter, I can assure you that without samples of previous vault owners, which Gringotts had acquired out of security needs, this way of verifying family bonds will be utterly useless. Now, do you want to waste my time with any other question or do you want to visit your vault?”

~~~

Sirius wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings, which was why the loud “Good news!” from Harry startled him enough he almost dropped his cup of Fortescue’s special Steaming Hot Chocolate Fudge ice cream.

“Merlin,” he breathed, both hands clutched protectively around his cup. “Do you always sneak up on a bloke like that?”

“Did you go to Fortescue’s without us?” Ginny demanded while Harry was busy looking pleased with himself. “Traitor!”

Next to Sirius, Tony popped his spoon out of his mouth, making loud smacking noises. “You took too long. Where’ve you been?”

“Getting some money,” Harry answered and patted his pocket. “It was a wild ride.”

Heart suddenly beating loudly in his chest, Sirius stared up at him from his perch on Gringotts’ front steps. “You went down to the vaults?” he asked Ginny, who was still eyeing their cups with clear envy.

“I did say I wanted to confirm some things today,” she replied airily, but when she looked up, she smiled at him.

Sirius swallowed and took a deep breath before pushing himself up. “Do you need something for your stomach? A lot of people hate Gringotts’ carts.”

“Wait, wait, wait a minute,” Stark chimed in, eyes narrowing. “What vault? And what carts?”

Harry shrugged, his grin softening into a smile. “Turns out I’m rich,” he said. “But I’d rather not talk about it right here.” His eyes moved away from them and towards the street and the multitude of colourful shops. In the time Sirius and the Muggles had waited for the two, Diagon Alley had filled up a bit, enough to make it look bustling. “You good to go?”

For a few moments, Stark looked intensely frustrated, but his eyes were soon drifting off as well. If Sirius wasn’t so damn preoccupied with the notion that Harry’s identity was confirmed, he’d have probably laughed at him. As it was, the older wizard could only do his best not to stare at the young man like a complete idiot.

“I can eat while walking,” Steve chimed in, which was apparently enough for Stark to let go of his nosiness and reignite his zest for action.

“And I want some of Florean’s Butterbeer Special,” Ginny said with a sniff and marched on, swiftly followed by the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 5203
> 
> Next chapter, Harry and friends will nose through Diagon Alley and add to their numbers.
> 
> This chapter's question is: _Which House would the Hat put SoT-Harry in and why?_


	8. Babylon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babylon - Barns Courtney
> 
> Surprise udpate! Since I missed some updates the last few weeks, have one a week earlier than usual. :) My thanks go out to Essay and cb3, who still put up with me, as well as to my wonderful readers. You're so patient with me!
> 
> In this chapter, Essay wrote three major scenes. Can you find them? I'll post which ones in the end notes!

**June 30th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Wanda looked up just moments before the door opened. Mantis, she noticed, had sensed Pietro’s approach too, her antennae moving gently as they probably picked up the sulky mood of her twin. Smiling at the shared awareness, she watched Pietro walk towards her, careful not to spill into blue and move too fast. Though the Compound was designed with superpowers in mind, Pietro still preferred to be careful when his temper ran high; after feeling it flare moments before, she wasn't surprised he was choosing to be slow instead of running.

“Hello, Pietro,” Mantis greeted him. Her voice was free of worry, despite the current state of Pietro’s clothes. “Do you want a cookie? You look like you need one or two.”

That earned her a scowl from Wanda’s twin, albeit a weak one. Wanda hid her smile behind the magazine she was reading. “I need some new pants,” Pietro finally said, his accent heavier in his distress. “They barely held for two runs.” He still took a cookie, which Bruce Banner had brought them just after breakfast.

Mantis hummed and reached for the box of cookies as well. “Oh, I don’t know. Your legs are very shapely.”

Wanda didn’t have to look at Pietro to know what face he was making right now. The magazine rustled in her hands as she brought it up even further and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. That, of course, didn’t work; not with her brother, at least. He was too good at picking up her moods and thoughts.

“I am _serious,”_ he complained and threw himself onto the couch next to Wanda, his head on her lap and shamelessly sprawling despite Mantis’ presence. He’d gotten used to her (and by extension to Drax) fairly quickly, even shared Wanda’s liking of the alien woman to a degree. Certainly enough to feel comfortable with her around. “Another set of running gear broken. My shoes are worse, look at the soles.”

She spared a glance to note the abysmal state of the shoes. “Why not ask for your old suit to be repaired?” she said and put away the magazine in favour of running one hand through Pietro’s white hair. “Or for a new one to be made.”

It was no secret that despite a whole facility full of clever people, each and every one capable of doing the work, it was Stark who handled the Avengers’ gear. Pietro groaned when he caught onto her thoughts, turning his face to hide against her stomach.

His voice came out a bit muffled. “Can’t I ask Banner?”

“It won’t change who makes it.” A gentle tug on his hair had Pietro looking up again. When she saw his annoyance, Wanda raised one unimpressed eyebrow. _He’ll make you the best suit,_ she thought and her unsaid words rang down their connection. _It’ll be fine._

“He’ll be smug about it,” Pietro murmured, but Wanda didn’t put much weight into his words. There were depths even to a man like Stark, and he at least took great pride in his work. Showing him a bit of trust would go a long way to integrate the twins more firmly into the team. And this was, at the end of the day, still mostly Stark’s home.

She doubted she would ever be able to become his friend, but Pietro just might.

“He’ll be thorough,” she finally said, hands running over Pietro’s hair and ears until he relaxed fully.

“Huh,” Mantis said from where she’d picked up Wanda’s discarded magazine. Eyes snapping up, Wanda saw her staring intently at Pietro. “Petting is very efficient in bringing down stress, isn’t it?”

Pietro sputtered. Wanda laughed.

~~~

 **June 30th, 2015**  
Diagon Alley

Leaning back against one of the many shelves of Flourish and Blotts, Harry watched Tony pull out yet another book to skim the table of contents before adding it to the ever-growing pile at the counter. His eyes flicked towards the two clerks helping the inventor. It had to be the sale of the year.

Steve, on the other hand, stared at the pile with something like dread, wringing his hands and furtively attempting to curb Tony’s shopping spree.

“I think I’ll go ahead and take a look at the shop next door,” Harry finally said to Ginny, who followed Tony’s movements with something like fascination. “You good here?”

“Absolutely. I’ll try and make him buy me my set of school books,” she said with a grin. “Maybe take Sirius with you? He’s bored to tears over there.”

Following her nod, Harry grimaced slightly at the sight of the man. Not that Sirius wasn’t friendly, but Ginny’s friend was prone to staring at Harry in a weird way. Given that Sirius knew who Harry was, he might be some kind of… well. Fan, maybe. And since Harry himself didn’t know what to do with the supposedly rabid interest of the wizarding world in his person, he felt wary at best.

“I guess I’ll ask him,” he said with a sigh and moved around a couple of curious customers who’d delayed their own purchase for the last few minutes in favour of whispering about the ‘rich guy’ buying half of the books in stock.

His approach was swiftly noticed by Sirius himself, whose expression morphed, yet again, into something horribly _maudlin._ Suppressing a shudder, Harry thought about just punching the guy.

“Hey,” he instead greeted him, which was enough to startle Sirius out of his gaping. “I want to go to the next shop, you game?”

“Sure!” Sirius said a bit too fast and eager for Harry’s liking. But the man seemed to notice it as well and winced a bit. “He’s very hectic, your friend.”

“Guess he hates not knowing how things work.” The young mage shrugged and glanced to the side. Steve was again trying to talk some sense into Tony. This time, his argument was the sheer mass of books. Harry snorted when one of the clerks swiftly stepped forth and mentioned shrinking charms. “Here’s hope that he’ll stop sometime today. Let’s go now before he makes us help him - I want to look at that galaxy model.”

~~~

They made their escape, past another spooked customer and out into the sunny alley. The shop Harry wanted to see was called _Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment._ It was mostly dedicated to Astronomy and Divination needs with a random assortment of other items thrown in. Sirius watched as Harry craned his neck to look at the vaulted ceiling, painted to a royal blue and dotted with blinking stars in silver and gold.

His gaze wandered over that young face with those strange markings and the dark smudges underneath attentive eyes. Sirius remembered Harry as a baby in Lily’s arms - she’d used to tell him that Harry looked just like James, but right now, with his hair cut short, Sirius could see as much of Lily as of his best friend in him.

As if feeling Sirius’ eyes on his neck, Harry quickly moved towards the eye-catching moving model of the Milky Way prominently featured right by the shop’s show window. Sirius silently cursed at his own behaviour - he could guess how much his staring might weird the young man out. From what Ginny had told him, he wasn’t likely to remember anything about the few years before his vanishing. Harry wouldn’t remember his godfather at all - he’d only been a baby back then, when he got to hold him in his arms, trying to get him to say his name.

“Okay,” Harry suddenly said, and Sirius only then noticed that he was staring again. He winced when he saw the annoyance on Harry’s face and the disdainful flash in his eyes. “I tried to ignore it, but fuck it: What’s the matter? Is it this identity thing or why’re you looking at me like you’re about to cry?”

“I’m not- I won’t cry, okay,” Sirius immediately denied. He wouldn’t. He’d cried enough after Remus had called him. And after his talk with Hermione and then with Ginny who told him that Harry was _coming back,_ and _don’t you want to come along, Snuffles?_ “It’s not like that.”

It was clear that Harry didn’t believe his words, and sure, he’d acted a bit strange today, but it still hurt to see the young man look at him like that, like he wasn’t trustworthy.

Like he didn’t know him at all. Like Sirius hadn’t been there to do his fucking duty as a godfather.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to bury those thoughts deep down, because they were just too true.

“Then what is it? Because honestly, it’s really disturbing.”

“I’m sorry, I just..” Looking around, Sirius took notice of the few customers lingering in the shop. He dropped his voice and averted his eyes, not sure if he could stomach the look on Harry’s face right now. “You went to the vault, right? The Potters’ vault?” He’d meant to ask this three hours ago when Harry and Ginny had left Gringotts and Ginny had smiled knowingly at him. But then the others had been there too, and he’d promised Hermione and Ginny to take it easy, to get to know Harry properly before spooking him.

Didn’t do him any good, did it?

When he glanced up, he was surprised by how thoughtfully Harry was regarding him. The annoyance was still there, but it had taken a back seat. With his head slightly tilted and his eyes no longer so wary, but searching and thinking, he looked even more like Lily. “You knew them,” he finally said, and it wasn’t a question. “You knew the Potters.”

“Your parents,” Sirius confirmed, still softly spoken. Nobody would thank him if people took notice of Harry in the midst of Diagon Alley because he was too damn loud. “They- James. He was my best friend, back in school. And Lily, she was _wonderful._ Put you in my arms right after James got to hold you, she did.”

“I don’t remember,” Harry said and Sirius wanted to laugh, just so that he wouldn’t have to cry about how blasé his godson sounded.

“You were just a baby,” he said instead, blinking a few times and reaching out for one of the crystal balls on display. “But yeah. I knew them very well. Named me your godfather, for all it’s worth.”

Sirius had entertained the idea of saying those words to Harry a hundred times before, but not once had he imagined his godson to look so… confused. An awkward silence stretched between them that made Sirius fidget with anxiety. “Well?” he finally blurted out, wincing.

“What’s a godfather?”

That- well, that wasn’t what he expected. For a moment, Sirius fumbled with his words, putting the ball down again. “A godfather’s, um… it’s kind of an uncle. Only better. I was supposed to take care of you, if something happened to your parents, but-”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted him. “Wait a moment - did you?” There was a sudden hostility in his voice, one that hit Sirius like a bludger. “Did you raise me, before I was snatched?”

“I couldn’t.” The words dropped from his mouth like dead things, heavy and hard to form, but it was true - he couldn’t because he’d fucked up, because he’d left Harry to Hagrid and then he never saw his godson again. He almost choked on those words, but they came out in a desperate tumble. “I couldn’t - I went after him, Harry, and they told me they’d take care of you, and I _wanted_ to come back! But it went all wrong and, and…” He took a sharp breath that did nothing to calm him down. “And then they threw me into Azkaban. They locked me away until I broke out and then it was too late. It was too late and I’m _so sorry,_ Harry.”

Breathing was difficult - his heart beat so fast, but he couldn’t get enough air through his lungs. Leaning a bit forward, Sirius tried his best not to cry or to shout. It wasn’t until someone touched him that he startled out of the whirlpool of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Startling green eyes looked down on him, and only then did Sirius notice that he was kneeling on the floor, every breath a weak, rattling thing. Strong fingers tilted his chin up and a hand cupped his face to hold him steady. From this close, Sirius could see the strange markings reach _into_ Harry’s eyes, the faintest silvery lines.

They looked almost fake like that, Lily’s eyes on Harry’s face, but the hostility was gone now. He didn’t know why, but it made it easier to breathe.

“Don’t faint,” Harry ordered him, his voice as firm as his hands. “I don’t know what all this godfather stuff is about, or what an Azkaban is, but it’s okay. I don’t hate you, right? So don’t faint.”

“You’re just afraid of Ginny,” Sirius accused him, and fuck but he was _wheezing._ Harry still cracked a smile at his lame joke, which was good enough.

“She reminds me of my sister,” Harry said, which had Sirius reeling again. It made Harry curse softly and then Sirius felt himself getting dragged to his feet, leaning heavily onto the younger man.

“He’s alright, just needs a bit of fresh air. No, I don’t need help - out of the way, for fuck’s sake!”

Being out of the cramped shop space helped a lot. His heart finally slowed down, but the whole ordeal left him wrung out as Harry propped him against a wall, close enough to catch him but no longer carrying him. “Thanks,” Sirius managed to say. It was bright outside and the sun was warm on his face.

“Panic attack,” Harry said and Sirius nodded, no matter how much he wished he could just ignore it all. “Because you thought I would, what, judge you?”

“I left you. Made the wrong choice that night and went after the traitor and ended up in jail for murder.” Oh fuck, no, that sounded wrong. “Wasn’t me,” he hastily continued. “Never got a trial. I wish I’d killed him, though.”

Something of his garble seemed to have been the right thing to say - Harry wasn’t running away yet. “So you were locked up for supposedly killing some dude? And that’s why you, er, couldn’t raise me?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Harry blinked twice before shrugging. “I guess that’s alright then. But don’t start trying to adult me or some shit, yeah?”

Sirius was baffled by the ease Harry just… accepted it. “You’re just _okay_ with that?” he asked worriedly.

“Well, it’s not like we can go back and change it, right? Don’t even know if I wanted to. Either way, I don’t get to judge people for being in jail for stuff they hadn’t done.” A grin spread on Harry’s lips - he had a dimple on his right cheek, just like James used to have. “You staring at me is also a lot less creepy when I know why.”

“I’m not _creepy,”_ Sirius said, somehow managing to sound petulant. Which was totally worth it since it made Harry laugh a bit. “But, really - you’re taking this really well. I could be a dangerous mass-murderer spinning a lie.”

That earned him a weird look from his godson. “Sure. But I know some mass-murderers and they don’t tend to look _maudlin_ all the time.” Harry hesitated while Sirius struggled with that statement. “Well, mostly I guess. You good again?”

For a moment, Sirius wanted to ask. But then he sighed and let it go for now. He needed a strong drink. “I’m fine. Just one more thing: I know we barely know each other, but I really want to, you know, do that. Maybe hang out a bit. You want to learn more magic, right? I could teach you some, show you around?”

There it was again, that slight tilt of his head. It made the sunlight reflect from Harry’s eyes just _so_ and Sirius wondered what those lines were.

“Deal,” Harry finally replied and the relief hit Sirius like a sledgehammer. “Let’s go see if Tony’s finished harassing Steve. I’m hungry.”

~~~

 **June 30th, 2015**  
Leaky Cauldron

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” Hermione said idly, a privacy charm firmly in place despite the curious looks the translucent bubble around them created.

She’d joined the group just a few minutes ago, when she’d rushed to the Leaky Cauldron after her work. Now she was sitting at a table wedged between Ginny and Sirius, while Mr Stark, Harry and _Steve Rogers, Captain America himself_ inspected today’s menu.

“I’m taking this horribly,” Mr Stark denied, frowning a bit over the relatively mundane food on offer. “Really, really horribly. Did you know that your people can just _shrink_ stuff? And it’s not just shrinking, no - the books weighed less as well, proportional to the decrease in size, which is just not how these things work, where does the mass go, the density should be far higher-”

“He’s been like that since we got here,” Captain Rogers said apologetically, and Hermione almost spat out her butterbeer when she saw Ginny fluttering her eyelashes at him. “I mean, it’s understandable. This whole place is…”

“Magical?” Sirius deadpanned, causing Mr Stark to blink at him with disbelief while Harry snorted.

“You did _not_ just make that joke,” Mr Stark said accusingly and pointed at Sirius. Captain Rogers put his hands on his face. “That was, that was super lame, I’m ashamed to be in your company, how _could_ you?”

“By speaking,” Sirius explained with fake patience. Through Harry’s chortling and Ginny’s suspicious coughing fit, Hermione sighed heavily and planted her elbow firmly into Sirius’ side.

“Ouch! Hermione!”

“Be nice.”

“Yeah, Black, be nice.” Mr Stark sounded delighted.

_“Tony.”_

“What? He was sassing me, Steve, I deserve better than that!”

“Anyway,” Hermione said, loud enough to stop that particular conversation. “I might be able to explain the magical theory behind some spells, so if you have questions…”

Ginny groaned and threw her hands upwards. Mr Stark, on the other hand, was eagerly leaning forward, his sharp brown eyes gleaming. “I have a few.”

~~~

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to regret her open invitation to what could be called a thorough interrogation by Mr Stark. The two ended up on one side of the table, wedged together as she patiently explained how certain spells worked and what books he’d bought and whether or not they were any good.

Somewhere between an in-depth discussion about cellular-mass-distribution in volume-altering spells and her penning down the basic wand movements in relation to Ancient Runes, food arrived at the table. Hermione did notice how Ginny was eyeing up Captain Rogers - she might have to explain some things to her friend, give her all the facts about that particular man. She also noticed Sirius’ tentative questions towards Harry, who was talking about space and different ships and people, which was all very interesting and worth asking Harry about later.

The thing that fully pulled her out of her conversation with Mr Stark, however, was a rather innocent question of Captain Rogers, one that had both Mr Stark and Hermione take notice.

“Owls? Like the birds?” Captain Rogers asked. “You use _owls_ for mailing?”

Sirius was nodding. “They’re scary smart. Can find most people as long as they don’t hide themselves away.”

Eyes narrowing, Mr Stark frowned. “Is that this medieval thing again? Wait, you have phones.” He pointed at Ginny and then at Hermione, who tried not to look too guilty. “Both of you, you have phones, I saw them. Ginny _used_ it. I saw it. Why do you have owls?”

“Well,” Hermione hedged, not really keen to tell Mr Stark about their plans that involved his own brand of phones in a bit of an illegal way. “It’s mostly your phones that’re working. I think back when you modified my Stark Pad, you introduced the change to your main lines? Other brands don’t really have the same stability in magic-dense environments and most of us still live in magical neighbourhoods.”

“Muggleborns are catching up to that. But the general public wouldn’t know where to get those phones _or_ basic service,” Ginny added, spreading her hands. “Thus, owls. We try to spread the news of your phones to our friends, though. You should thank us for that, we’re like technological Stark ambassadors.”

Her answer was an amused huff that couldn’t quite cover Mr Stark’s palpable frustration of the very traditional world of magic in Britain. “I already bought you things,” he said. “I distinctly remember you adding to my pile in Flourish and Blotts. Shameless, I call that. Be careful, Rogers, she’s in for the money.”

Ginny snorted. “Don’t listen to him, Steve. I obviously like you for the looks.”

Amidst Mr Stark’s laughter and Captain Rogers’ sputtering, Hermione pressed her hands against her face, letting out a groan.

“Can we just not do this right now?” she asked the world in general and her friend specifically before dropping her hands to glare at the snickering girl. “Oh, Merlin’s… robes. Harry!” She turned towards the young man, who seemed quite amused. “Have you seen the Menagerie yet? Magical creatures are an important part of our world. We should go now, I need to pick up some things for Crookshanks anyway.”

“Sure, why not,” he said amiably. Hearing him speak had been quite the surprise for Hermione, and she wanted to ask why he hadn’t before, but Ginny had given her a _look_ when she’d tried, which probably meant that it was something personal. Ignoring the weight of curiosity, she simply nodded and counted out some coins to pay for her meal.

“You’re no fun, Hermione,” Ginny complained. “No fun at all.”

Captain Rogers seemed relieved to get going, so Hermione counted it as a win.

~~~

 **June 30th, 2015**  
Magical Menagerie, Diagon Alley

The shop was cramped, dark and a bit too smelly for Harry’s tastes. It was also filled with a multitude of weird noises coming from animals he’d never seen before.

In tanks along one wall, small, slimy-skinned quadrupeds made strange trilling noises. Longer, scaled quadrupeds clambered up branches in cages, and from a series of beams on the ceiling small, leathery-winged mammals with furry bodies seemed to hang from their feet. And that was just within the first few feet of the entryway.

Hermione seemed unfazed, making her way through rows of cages, tanks, boxes and shelves towards a counter at the back. There, a cage of rats seemed to be skipping over their own tails and as Hermione spoke to the man at the counter Harry stared at the brightly coloured labels on sacks of feed, buckets of treats, and the two large displays nearby - a small fuzzy white quadruped with long ears that turned, periodically, into a silky black hat, and a large shelled creature with gems dotting over the dome of it.

“... Who bedazzled the tortoise?” Tony asked.

“It’s a Galapagos fire crab,” the man at the counter said, without looking up from where he was searching the shelves for whatever it was Hermione was after. “Marcellus Direhorn got permission to cross a Galapagos tortoise with a fire crab. Don’t ask why. She’s quiet, mostly.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Mostly?”

The man finally lifted whatever it was he was after with an _Aha!_ “I mean,” the man said, setting it down. “She doesn’t set things on fire. But she will eat just about anything.”

Tony shuffled closer to the crab-thing. And then he poked it, which caused it to blink at him. “Huh”, Tony said and poked it again. “How much?”

“Two-hundred Galleons.” At Hermione’s soft gasp, the clerk shrugged. “It’s a legal experimental breed crossed from a rare beast. They don’t want just _anyone_ buying it.”

“You’re getting that thing?” Harry asked, highly amused. “Doesn’t look very useful to me.”

“I promised Bruce to bring him a souvenir.”

Looking away from the fuzzy white quadruped slash black hat, Steve’s eyes narrowed down into suspicious slits. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean pets, Tony.”

“Nonsense, Rogers. I mean, look at her, isn’t she a beauty?” Tony’s voice was alarmingly gleeful. “Pack her up, I’m taking her.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully as Tony counted the heavy Galleons. “I always wanted a pet.” Again his eyes wandered across the many cages - and the many animals just moving around freely in the cluttered space of the Menagerie. “The Eclector wasn’t good for that, though - too many assholes. Would’ve eaten it, I reckon.”

This had Sirius perk up from his bored stance. “I’ll buy you one,” he eagerly offered. “What do you want?”

He was trying hard, Harry knew. And he could acknowledge that. At least he’d stopped with his wrecked staring, after their short talk. As it was, Harry wasn’t opposed to being opportunistic; not with the way he was raised, and by whom. If people were happy to give him stuff, who was he to decline? “I’ll take a look around. Nothing flying, though - they need to be okay with my ship.”

“Lemme come with you,” Tony said after putting away the rest of his coins. He should get used to the local names. “You’re gonna stay at my place, I don’t want to have weird deadly things crawling around.”

Harry shrugged and started looking around. The slimy creatures in the tanks were fascinating, but he was pretty sure they’d need more attention and specific things than he could give. The scaled ones too. The things on the ceiling presumably were flying ones and so weren’t options. Instead, Harry was drawn to one corner of the shop - past the tanks of snakes and amphibians, to where the mewling was. Small quadrupedal mammals were penned in boxes, adults and several smaller ones, with fur in a variety of colours. 

“Cats?” Tony asked. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a cat man.”

Harry, having never seen a cat before in his life, shrugged. “Cute,” he said, reaching into one of the boxes. The adult sniffed his fingers, it’s nose cold, before turning away and Harry grinned. Choosy. He liked that. 

“Interested in the cats?” a new voice asked. Harry looked over to see an aproned man. “We’ve regular cats, cat-kneazle hybrids and a variety of kneazle breeds.” 

Harry blinked at the deluge but thankfully didn't have to speak. “Kneazles?” Tony asked. 

“Magical cats,” Hermione said, who’d followed them, her purchase already done. “Crookshanks - my cat - is part-kneazle. They’re very intelligent and very protective of the people they like.” 

Harry couldn’t help it, he grinned and nodded. 

“That’s a regular moggy,” the man said, nodding at the pen Harry was standing by. “A good line, excellent mousers. Affectionate and friendly. If you want something a bit more particular, the kneazles are this way.”

He led them a few pens down. As they passed Harry saw labels on the pens - English was still a bit beyond him, especially handwritten like this, but he could make out bits and pieces - “Cats - Five Queens, One Tom. Dam: Adella, Sire: Forsythe”, “Half-Kneazles - Two Toms, Two Queens. Dam: Pennyroyal, Sire: Oleander” - but had no idea what half of it meant. As they moved towards the kneazles the signs became more specific, specifying breed.

“Pangur Bans are nice if you want something good on its own, but they can be a bit cheeky. Taigheirm - we’ve only one of those right now and they’re selective bastards. There’s a litter of Isle of White Miniature Kneazles and we’ve three Cath Palug, as you can see.” The man gestured at the pen they’d stopped by, the largest cat Harry had yet seen sprawled along one wall, tawny-coloured tail flicking lazily back and forth. Two kittens nursed at its belly, while a third paced around, stumbling a little but clearly curious as it headed for the water bowl. Gently, Harry extended a hand.

The kitten sniffed his fingers. The kitten nuzzled his fingers. The kitten _bit_ his fingers and when Harry yelped and pulled his hand back the kitten darted out with both paws trying to cling on, making a softly adorable snarling noise.

 _Oh no,_ Harry thought.

“Heh,” Tony said. “Just like you. Cheeky.”

Harry flipped him off.

~~~

 **June 30th, 2015**  
London

It had been a phenomenally long day and when the group finally started heading out of Diagon Alley, Severus couldn’t help the sigh of relief he gave as he followed. The group was laden down with bags of shrunken books and an assortment of other things. Stark had a pair of brooms - one Quidditch model and one racing broom, bought after an enthusiastic speech about Quidditch by Miss Weasley - over his shoulders and Captain Rogers was carrying the tank with the fire crab under one arm. Mr Potter was cradling a small fuzzy animal to his chest, glancing occasionally down each time it bit his fingers. 

His smile, fond each time, was remarkably reminiscent of Lily’s.

Out of Diagon, out through the Leakey, down some streets they went as he followed underneath the cloak Albus had given him. They climbed a metal stairway to a flat roof and Severus was grateful for the Silencing Charm he cast to quieten the inevitable creaks of the metal. The roof seemed empty - a planned Apparition point? But Granger, Weasley and Black all stayed near the edge of the roof instead of offering arms to Apparate, and with a few steps forward and a gesture at thin air some kind of technological invisibility was stripped away.

Not twenty feet away rested an actual, real spaceship.

Severus could feel the migraine coming on.

A ramp on the ship opened, revealing some kind of storage area; with care, Rogers set down the tank, nestled between two metallic crates - likely so it wouldn’t slide - as Stark settled the brooms on a shelf. Granger stepped forward, wand out and for a moment Severus dared to hope she might modify their memories, at least enough to prevent a breach of the Statute-

But no, she only waved her wand at the contents of the bags, unshrinking the entire library of books therein. 

Severus _had_ a migraine coming on. He rubbed his brow.

“I’ll call when everything’s settled,” Potter said, and thank _Merlin_ at least that was a given for now. “Your way of doing magic looks so much easier to how I do it.”

Miss Granger was beaming at him as if she wasn’t breaking a number of laws. “Don’t worry, I’m going to prepare some easy first lessons. Definitely the basics - Transfigurations, Potions, Charms and Defence. Oh, and Herbology is very important as well-”

“You can come visit us, too,” Miss Weasley added and Severus was so done watching them. He didn’t need to see her _wink_ at Rogers.

After a final round of “goodbyes” Stark, Rogers and Potter piled onto the ship. As Severus watched, the engines brightened, humming until the ship rose from the roof and suddenly, with acceleration that would make the makers of the _Firebolt_ envious, it vanished into the distance.

It was well out of reach of any spell in mere moments.

~~~

 **June 30th, 2015**  
London

“So, Nala. What’re you gonna call her?” Tony asked as they headed back over the ocean. Harry raised an eyebrow. “Kitty cat.”

Harry shrugged. Honestly, he hadn’t really thought about it - she was an animal and his animal now and he only had the one. He didn’t really need to differentiate.

“Come on, even I know you’ve got to have a name for your pet, you can’t just yell ‘Hey you!’ when they do something bad. I mean, unless it’s actually You that’s done something bad.”

Grudgingly, Harry had to admit that Tony had a point. Thing was, there weren’t many names he liked - not many _people_ he liked - and of those most were nearby. Naming his new pet after them would be a bit weird, even by his standards - “Yona” or “Kraggles” would be more likely to create confusion, laughs and endless teasing. _Or a good beating,_ he thought wryly.

“Azha,” he said after a long moment. In his mind, it sounded just enough like _Azalel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 5456
> 
> The [Cath Palug](https://themonsterblogofmonsters.tumblr.com/post/183482812803/cath-palug-magical-cats-bred-in-wales-these-large) is one of the many magical creatures listed on The Monster Blog of Monsters, as well as the other specific kneazle breeds mentioned above. I’m very thankful that I can use this blog for this story, all credits for Azha go to them!
> 
> In this chapter, Essay wrote three scenes: the Menagerie scene, Snape's scene and the naming of Azha. I hope you love them as much as I do!
> 
> Question of the Chapter: What kind of Patroni would our non-magical heroes (Wanda counts!) have? I could see a crow for Tony Stark since those are very intelligent birds!


	9. Wohin Du Gehst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wohin Du Gehst - AnnenMayKantereit

**June 30th, 2015**  
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts

“This… complicates things,” Albus said with a weary sigh, ignoring the way his Potions Master snorted at his understatement.

“Yes, Headmaster. It rather does.”

The sky outside was darkening as the two lapsed to silence. With no students in the castle and even most of the teachers gone for the summer, Hogwarts was eerily silent. He’d never been truly fond of the holidays for that reason alone, even though he couldn’t deny a certain relief to be free of a good portion of a Headmaster’s duties during them.

If only the rest of the world would give him the occasional break, but alas - he wasn’t just a Headmaster, was he? And that, at least, had been his own choice.

“The… plane,” he started, but he was neatly interrupted by his friend. It was clear that Severus was in a temper right now.

“Spaceship, Headmaster,” Severus said viciously, clearly of a mind that if he had to suffer, he might as well pull Albus along. “There is no use in trying to talk around the matter. Black had already hinted at it, and after our research back in New York, it became _very_ clear that there is life outside of Earth. Plentiful life, thriving and with a measure of knowledge about magic.” He raised one eyebrow at him but still managed to scowl. “Potter’s in the midst of all this. And somehow, he managed to convince Miss Granger, Miss Weasley _and_ the mutt to expose our world to _Muggles,_ Albus!”

“If we go by the word of the law, they might’ve considered it to be acceptable,” Albus said with a tired smile, but he only earned a scoff.

“Granger might convince herself on that, but Miss Weasley and Black were more likely excited about showing off.” He gave the now-cold cup of tea a withering glare which then settled on the Headmaster. “And the Ministry won’t let you mince your words either. Neither Tony Stark nor Steve Rogers are in any way related to magical blood and they should’ve been put under _Obliviate.”_

“Which might still be an option, depending on how much this information has spread. But Severus - I don’t think it’s the only or even the best option we have.” Albus leaned forward, feeling his age with every fibre of his being. He’d felt it ever since holding little Harry Potter in his arms and made the choice of safety instead of happiness. “The ICW is well aware of the ongoings of the so-called Avengers and their impact on our world. They are… powerful people. And as long as they keep the secret to themselves and, more importantly, are inclined to side with Harry, we won't do anything rash.”

It wasn’t what Severus wanted to hear, but Albus was sure that the man, no matter his own thoughts on this, would heed his words.

“Very well,” Severus said after a moment. “On your head it will be, Albus. Was that all?”

Albus sighed and nodded, which Severus took as permission to leave.

Fawkes crooned softly from his perch.

“I might have a favour to ask of you, old friend,” Albus told him. Fawkes perked up and shook out his massive wings. “Miss Tonks and Remus will need a swift way home if you’re up to it.”

And tomorrow he’d need to talk with Sirius and Miss Granger.

~~~

 **June 30th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

“We return victorious!” Tony announced as he entered the Compound’s common rooms. Thanks to differing time zones and the speed of the Downfall, they’d made it back to the Compound before dinner time, which was just perfect.

He’d have to make a special hangar for the ship - either by repurposing a number of existing rooms or by building another building for the complex. The thing was too damn big for the Quinjet hangar and he needed something secure and enclosed to strip that baby and get both his hands on it.

“What about the spoils of war?” Barton was quick to ask. His arms were full of baby and he eyed Tony with obvious curiosity, his eyes lingering on the brooms the engineer carried over his shoulder. Then his gaze locked onto something behind Tony and he sat up straighter, eyes growing wide. He wasn’t the only one - Pepper and Natasha were sitting on another couch, and they, too, were staring.

Tony grinned and stepped out of the way for Steve.

Harry, who was last to come in, hurried past Tony and Steve, empty-handed but with his tawny kitten draped over his shoulder. It went almost unnoticed. Obviously Tony’d bought the better pet, the one Steve was currently carrying in a tank.

Barton was the first to open his mouth. “The hell?”

“No touching, that’s my bedazzled tortoise,” Tony said quickly, eyes narrowed and finger-pointing at the archer.

“I don’t want your bedazzled tortoise, Stark.”

“You totally want her, you lying liar.”

“Tony,” Pepper said with a pained voice. _“Why_ do you have…” She made a weak gesture towards Steve who was putting the tank down on the bar now.

“It’s for Bruce. Don’t worry, Pep, I got stuff for all of us to share around.”

Ignoring the incredulous look his fiancée gave him, Tony walked up to her and bent down to kiss her cheek. Barton was cackling, but he didn’t get up to poke the tortoise, which was a definite win in Tony’s books. “Now, where’s my favourite scientist?”

“In the kitchen, with Laura,” Barton provided easily, eyes back down at his son. “Debriefing?”

“After dinner. I’m starving. We picked up a whole load of stuff to go through the next couple of weeks, by the way, but that can wait for tomorrow. Cap, you good with that?”

Steve shrugged from where he was inspecting the tank, making sure that it was secure. “That’s alright with me,” he finally said, standing up and turning towards them when he was done.

“I want to try the brooms,” said Harry, who was already sitting on one of the couches, petting the huge kitten he’d put on his lap.

Barton perked up at that. “Yeah, what’s up with those?”

“Are they magic, too?” Natasha asked, looking away from Harry’s kitten. Tony did a double-take, but the almost soft look on her face was already gone. Instead, she was raising one brow, daring him to comment on it. “Are they?”

“I- yeah, sure,” Tony said, filing that look away. Then he grinned and patted the two broomsticks he carried. “You won’t _believe_ how clichéd they are.”

~~~

 **July 1st, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Pietro let himself drop down beside Wanda. As her mattress adapted to his added weight, he once again wondered if he'd ever get used to the luxury Stark liked to surround himself and everyone around him with.

“Still in bed?” he asked in Sokovian, half amused. Wanda looked up at him without a hint of sleepiness. One of his hands automatically slipped around hers, their fingers intertwining.

“I was thinking.” Wanda gave his hand a small squeeze and shifted closer, her head a familiar weight on his shoulder. “Did I miss breakfast?”

“No, not yet.” A short, comfortable pause followed before Pietro turned his head. He pressed a quick kiss to Wanda’s forehead, huffing softly when her hair tickled his nose. “We still have some time. Yesterday ended late.”

She would know why he was here - between the two of them there was next to no need for secrecy. Even before Wanda had linked them with her power, they’d shared a close bond. And while Pietro couldn’t touch other minds the way Wanda could with her scarlet, hers was never far away; always present, always close, a comfortable bridge they’d walked countless times together.

And for the last couple of days, Wanda’s mind had been restless. Maybe longer than that, now that he thought about it - maybe it had started that day in Albany, with Harry’s scattered memories.

She’d shared a bit back then, when he’d grabbed her hand to calm her down. He wondered what new things she’d seen in Harry’s mind but kept away from him? Nothing that made Wanda fear Harry - Pietro would’ve known and he would’ve acted on it immediately. Tentative allies or not, his sister’s safety came first, would always come first for him.

Wanda let out a soft laugh as she leaned closer, face pressed against his chest now. Her brown hair spilled over his shirt. “Don’t worry so much,” she murmured and he knew she was smiling, could feel the curve of her lips without seeing it.

“It’s what I do best,” he replied easily and wrapped one arm around her. “Especially when I don’t know what is going on. You saw his past, that much I know, but something else as well, yes? And it is bothering you.” When she didn’t answer right away, he rolled his eyes and tugged lightly on a strand of Wanda’s hair. “Is it more like the Blinder, then? I’m your _brother,_ Wanda. It is my duty to protect, not yours.”

At least this got a reaction from her - she looked up, really _looked_ at him in the way she always did. Nobody understood him as well as she did, the same way that he would always know her best, as well. He settled back and met her eyes, giving her the time she needed to make her decisions. He’d accept them anyway, always, but he wanted her to know that she had other options.

“It is… _more,”_ she finally said and he breathed out in relief. “And it explains so much. I just- he _hurts,_ and yet he doesn’t. It’s all buried underneath something.” The tether between them sang with her own emotions - confusion and empathy and horror for what she’d seen. “He’s… resolved. But underneath that, he hurts a lot.”

“Are we still on his side, then?”

“As much as we have been before, yes.” Wanda was still for a moment before she sat up and got out of bed. “I think I will get ready now. Steve said they’d unload the books right after breakfast and I am curious about this magical world.”

Pietro raised his eyebrows at that, but he did so with a wry smile on his lips. “You are not the only one,” he admitted.

Wanda blinked and turned back to him after a short stretch. Her hair was mussed, but her eyes were sharp and alert. “You still have to ask Stark about your clothes,” she said after a moment and Pietro groaned.

~~~

“Okay, that was the last one I think,” Tony said gleefully as Steve put down the box full of books.

Bruce, who’d watched them for the better part of the morning, found himself hovering next to the impressive collection of reading material. Not that everything in those boxes were books - Tony had bought a lot of things, but it was easier to concentrate on the books.

They were the most normal things his friend had brought home, despite the leather bindings and parchment pages. Bruce tried hard not to look at the new, large tank in their shared lab space, the one closest to Tony’s main workshop. The tortoise had been a surprise, one he wasn’t quite sure if he liked it or not. Something about the gleam of dozens of gems, some of them as large as his fists, was very worrisome to him.

The same could be said about the cauldron Tony’d dragged over to one well-ventilated corner of the lab. Or the brooms he knew the billionaire kept upstairs in his own penthouse.

At least the books were something he knew what to do with. Read them and learn from them, as they’d done with the first one Tony’d brought back with him, on that first trip to England.

“Do you think we can let Friday scan the bulk of it?” he asked, walking around the boxes to take a measure of how much information was lying in front of them. It was a _lot,_ the history and sciences of a whole new society. According to Tony, this might just be the tip of the iceberg. “She could start an archive, streamline the information into categories.”

Tony hummed. “Someone needs to manually turn the pages, but I can put Butterfingers on that.” He grabbed two books, seemingly at random, and threw one towards Bruce who deftly caught it. “You got it, Friday?”

“Yes, Boss,” the AI said cheerfully. “Leave it to me.”

~~~

 **July 2nd, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Azha was squirming on Harry’s lap, paws in the air and keen eyes following his wiggling fingers. She was fierce and fast even lying on her back, already lashing out with her sharp claws extended. She mewled after missing his hands, clearly disappointed, and Harry grinned.

“You’re so cute,” he told the Cath Palug kneazle. “Yes, you are! Can’t wait ‘till you’re all big and strong and deadly, right?”

“For fuck’s sake, you’re creepy like that,” Yondu said as he sat down next to Harry, disgust in his voice. Looking up, Harry saw clear envy in his red eyes.

The mage snickered and flicked one tufted ear of the big kitten. “Still bitter that she can’t stand you?”

“Tch.” Yondu was scowling now, the expression settling on his face with ease. It was one of his favourites. “Lies and slander.”

It wasn’t - Harry knew Yondu just as well as he knew Kraglin and Peter and a few of the old Ravagers, most of them dead after the mutiny. Yondu had a weakness for small things. “I’ll make you something for when you come back,” he said instead of needling him more, eyes firm on Yondu’s scarred face.

For a few moments, neither said anything. Harry continued playing with Azha while Yondu was watching their surroundings - the sunlit lawn surrounding the Compound, the Downfall, ready and gleaming, close by. Peter was standing next to the ship, arguing with Rocket, while Mantis was talking to the Terran twins, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. Saying her goodbyes, most likely - in her arms, Groot was napping away.

“You’re okay with it,” Yondu said, and it wasn’t really a question.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been on my own, Yondu.”

“And not the first time someone decided to stay away.”

Offering Azha one finger to chew on, Harry sighed and slid closer to this captain. And if his elbow was hitting harshly the other man’s side, well. Accidents happen. “This ain’t _home_ for me,” he said, his voice even and firm and not at all breaking apart. “Home is up there, and you know that. Look, you’ll be back in a few months, sooner if there’s an emergency. You got Krags with you, and Peter and the others. It’s not like the Quadrant can hang around this moon for any longer.”

“I know that,” Yondu snapped, not at all at peace. Harry rolled his eyes and winced when Azha clawed at his hand, giving a small hiss in Yondu’s direction. “Oh hush you,” Yondu said gruffly. He seemed about to speak again before cutting himself off and Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“What is it?” Harry asked when Yondu didn’t move to speak. “Something’s eating at you.”

Yondu reached for Azha, moving his hand just enough to avoid claws. “That,” he said. “That’s what’s worryin’ me.”

“...My cat.”

Yondu’s eyes were almost soft looking at Harry. “Her name, boy.”

“Yondu,” Harry said, the mocking in his voice nothing but hot air. Yondu’s lips curled upwards in recognition. “Are you _coddling_ me?”

Azha jumped off his lap with a loud hiss and raised hackles when the Centaurian threw one arm over Harry’s shoulders to pull him close and into a headlock. “I’m gonna show you coddling, you little shit,” Yondu threatened over Harry’s muffled laughter. Then his voice dropped low enough to give even Harry a hard time hearing him. “They give you grief, any of them, you call me, right?”

It was easy to agree when it was Yondu asking for these things.

~~~

Just a couple of hours later, Harry’d flown them all up to the Quadrant, not even squirming when Kraglin gave him a last hug.

“Learn something useful,” he said, and Harry nodded, and then he was on his way back to Terra, the Quadrant already gaining speed.

It was okay, though. He was only ever one call away from them, after all.

~~~

 **July 5th, 2015**  
Somewhere In Britain

_Only one dim lamp was lit in the otherwise dark room, next to the old, moth-eaten sofa. Gliding forward, through decades-old dust, the sofa loomed high above, the smell growing distinctly musty. A figure kneeled in front of it, head bent downwards and facing whatever small form was causing the cloth of the cushions to dip ever so slightly._

_“The last plan,” a whispering voice said. “Was a_ failure.” __

_“I know, my lord. I am at your mercy, my lord.”_

_For a moment the room was quiet, whoever the figure kneeled before clearly considering their next words._

_“I have too few servants to trust right now, Barty,” it said. “And you have proven_ so _dedicated. Him leaving Britain at that time was unexpected.”_

_There was a moment’s silence again and the figure dipped his head. “I live to serve, my lord.”_

_The laugh that rose from the sofa was high and thin, almost childish in pitch but that few children could laugh so cruelly._

_“Serve you shall,” the voice said. “And we have time yet. Still, I grow tired of this body. You will succeed in your next mission.” There was a short pause. Then: “Such a shame the boy vanished.”_

_Despite the vagueness, the figure seemed to take the voice’s meaning. “I will bring you the blood, my lord, and whatever he knows of the boy.”_

_“I expect nothing less than success,” the voice said. “Do not fail me again, Barty. I will not be so lenient a second time.”_

It was dark and silent when Harry woke up, eyes wide open and already on alert without much time between restless sleep and full awareness. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t make out any nearby threat. Despite that, it still took him a few minutes to fully calm down, mind churning over the strange dream he’d just woken up from.

Nightmares weren’t unusual for him - even the years secure with the Ravagers hadn’t healed him fully from them. After Albany, some of his oldest nightmares had returned with a vengeance, but this had felt different. More odd than dreadful; strange and not at all familiar.

For one fleeting moment, he longed for either Yondu or Kraglin to be here. It was one of his more childish wishes, but they’d never failed to indulge him in his need for physical closeness after a particularly bad dream. On Terra, however, with his family far away, there wasn’t anyone left who he’d trust that much.

He was just about to climb out of his bed to search for the communal kitchen, his mind set on a hot beverage or a glass of potent alcohol, when a weight climbed onto his lap with a soft mewl. Harry stilled, registering the softness of fur on his bare thighs and the sharp prick of claws against his skin, and then he breathed out and petted Azha.

He went back to sleep not long after, the kitten a reassuring weight on his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words** : 3288
> 
> And there they go. Don’t worry, that’s not the last we see of our favourite aliens.   
> Question of the Chapter: What PoV is your favourite? Which one would you like to see more?


	10. Fly Me To The Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra

**July 15th, 2015**  
Grimmauld Place, London

“Draco,” Ginny said as she entered the parlour of Grimmauld Place, looking at three expectant faces. “Neville. Ron.”

“Hello, Ginny,” Ron said with a daring look, lounging on one of the sensible couches Mrs Black had picked out years ago. “Long time no see.”

“We literally saw each other this morning, Ron. I thought you’d go hang out with those two idiots at Neville’s place?”

“Gran needed some peace and quiet,” Neville said cheerfully, the giant liar. Ginny blamed Draco, corrupting influence that he was. “So we thought, why not come here?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yes, because that big old mansion of yours is _so_ crowded with the three of you.”

“Face it, Weasley, you’re outnumbered. Cousin Sirius already bowed out.” A smirk danced on Draco’s face as he leaned forward. “Now, where’s Hermione?”

With a deep sigh, Ginny dropped her bag and joined Ron on the couch, rather purposefully sitting down on his long legs. He cursed and scrambled to one side, scowling at her. “She’s picking up our guest. You know, the one we told you you’d get to see when he actually is okay with that?”

“I’m sure he won’t mind, Ginny,” Neville said and laughed at the face she made. Definitely ruined, that one. Slytherin was contagious, ugh. “And I don’t get why we shouldn’t be here. You said he could help us with MagiTech, and that’s our thing as much as it’s yours and Hermione’s.”

“Just so,” Draco added and looked at Neville with such a besotted face that Ginny was tempted to throw one of the decorative little cushions at him. “If Blaise wasn’t in Italy right now I’d have brought him as well.”

“Guess I’ll count myself as lucky, then,” Ginny said with a snort as she kicked her feet up. “So, _what_ have you got on Sirius?” Draco didn’t answer, but he was smirking again. “That embarrassing?”

“He’s not gonna tell,” Ron said with some annoyance in his voice. “We tried for hours.”

Ginny hummed as she settled down more comfortably, eyeing the boys with speculative glances. “So, I gather you have a good excuse for Hermione when she arrives - she’s _really_ anxious to make good impressions.”

The looks of dawning horror she received had her stifle a laugh. Idiots, all of them.

~~~

Harry looked around, pushing up his floppy hat and not quite certain what to think. The buildings facing the little green square of Grimmauld Place had seen better times, that’s for sure; each and every one needed a good cleaning to match the grand designs plastered all over the townhouses. The lawn itself was really unkempt, a far cry from the neat and tidy grass that the Compound sported, or even the small garden of the Grangers.

The thing was, he was well used to living in ugly spaces. But damn, this place was downright _gloomy._ It was hard to picture a man like Sirius Black living here, prone to be maudlin or not. He’d only spend one day with him, two weeks ago, but he’d given off relatively good vibes after finally telling him about the whole godfather-schtick.

“You’re sure this is it?” he asked the young woman next to him, one eyebrow raised. Gamora was far better at the expression than he was, but he rather thought he got the hang of it. At least Hermione wasn’t laughing at his face.

She was just dreadfully nervous, clutching her bag that seemed both heavy and ready to burst with books.

“Oh, of course!” she said, looking up from where she was checking if she had everything on her. She’d picked him up from his usual landing spot and they’d taken one of those… cabbies? Cabs? One of the ground vehicles to Grimmauld. It had all been a bit underwhelming, although the driver had been a cheerful sort. “Now, I think nothing’s missing. Let’s go, Sirius should be waiting for us, and Ginny might even be there already…”

Eyeing her warily, he followed Hermione as she strode forward. The young woman was terribly nervous - and terribly excited. He had the vague feeling that this would be one very memorable tutoring session but wasn’t sure if it would be the _good_ sort of memorable. And hadn’t _Sirius_ made the offer, anyway?

Before he could decide to turn tail (he’d seen suspicious spreadsheets in Hermione’s bag, after all), they stood before one of the townhouses, the door opening a few moments after Hermione had knocked on it. Azha, perched on his shoulder, gave a soft meow and butted her head against his chin before setting her eyes on Sirius.

He, too, looked oddly nervous, although in a very different manner as Hermione.

“Oh, you’re here already! Uhm, come in, come in - Hermione, can I talk to you real quick? Good to see you, Harry!” Sirius was talking quite fast, his eyes flicking around before he stepped to the side, revealing some kind of narrow entrance hall with stairs leading up at the far side.

Though shabby on the outside, the house itself was in good condition. Dark floorboards were polished to a shine, with the occasional rug in dark blues bringing some colour to it. The walls sported matching wood panelling that roughly reached up to Harry’s hip, followed by nice and bright wallpaper. Running a hand over it, Harry noticed that it wasn’t paper at all, but some sort of thin cloth and of very fine making, the cream-coloured base decorated with delicate silver flowers.

A rather feminine touch, but then Sirius had mentioned a cousin and her son living with him. It had been a worry of his to be faced with more strangers on his first proper day of schooling, but both his godfather and Hermione had promised that they would only be joined by Ginny until the mage decided to fully take the plunge into this foreign world.

 _At least that was the plan,_ he thought wryly, watching Sirius and Hermione a few paces away as they exchanged increasingly heated words. He couldn’t make out what exactly they were talking about, but he _could_ hear the other voices drifting down the stairs, one familiar and female, the others not so much. With a shrug, he plucked Azha from his shoulder and let her explore before going up in a quick stride.

“Harry, wait-”

Ignoring Hermione’s hasty words, he followed the other voices until he reached a doorway on the second floor leading into a room just as pleasant looking as the main hall. He quickly recognized Ginny Weasley’s long, red hair, right next to another matching head sitting on the couch. Across from them, facing the doorway and thus Harry, sat two young men, a blonde and a brunette, who were staring at him with open curiosity.

“Hey, Ginny,” Harry said loudly and smiled when the girl whirled around. Surprise gave place to amusement and an utter lack of guilt. Thinking back to Sirius’ face, he was pretty sure whose fault this whole thing was.

“Hey, Harry,” Ginny replied airily, brown eyes gleaming. “Come over here, meet my brother and his idiot friends.”

“Oh, now they’re only my friends?” the lanky redhead snorted and got up to offer Harry his hand. The family resemblance was unmistakable, only that the guy had bright blue eyes instead of Ginny’s warm hazel. “Ron Weasley. These two are Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy.”

Harry’s smile widened a bit. “Just Harry,” he said with a firm grasp, but before he could inspect either Neville Longbottom or Draco Malfoy, Hermione and Sirius burst through the doorway, having caught up with him.

“Harry, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t know,” the bushy-haired woman gasped, glaring at the three guys with a startling intensity. Greatly amused, Harry watched as they winced, especially Ron, Ginny smug in the background. “I told them not to come! Weren’t you supposed to be at Neville’s?” she added with something close to a hiss.

“Uh, well, Hermione,” Ginny’s brother started, but to no avail - Hermione stalked closer, this time without casting the anti-eavesdropper-spell, and started to berate the poor guy. Not that Harry felt much pity for any of these strangers. This was supposed to be his first proper tutorial in Terra’s magic.

“... was Draco’s idea, I swear…”  
“... liar, obviously…”  
“...don’t think I care, you both are…”  
“...what about Neville?...”

“You want something to drink, Harry?” Sirius asked him quietly. “Ginny, you too - let’s go down to the kitchen. We got snacks, too, and some butterbeer.”

“Neat,” Harry said, remembering the odd but very tasty drink. Very sugary and rich, but without much alcohol. “Show the way.”

Yeah, he really didn’t pity them. And neither did his godfather nor Ginny, what with how fast they jumped ship and led him back downstairs.

~~~

Ron watched the guy from his side of the kitchen table, his ears still faintly ringing from Hermione’s rant. His girlfriend had really been mad at them; still was, by the looks of it.

But what were they to do, with all the secrecy around this mysterious ‘friend’? Neither Sirius, nor Ginny, and especially not Hermione had at any point told them more about this Just-Harry but some vague hints that he knew Tony Stark and was pretty much new to the wizarding world despite being magical.

So when Draco got wind of Just-Harry’s plan to visit Sirius for some late lessons, they’d got together to crash the party.

The poor bloke was woefully unprepared for the sheer enthusiasm of Ron’s girlfriend when it came to studying, he thought with a snicker that earned him a withering glare from said witch. Smiling sheepishly, Ron hastily swallowed more laughter.

“And that’s the basics of wandlore,” Hermione finished. Just-Harry was still staring at her as if she’d just grown a second head. “Now, I know you went and bought yourself a wand. Have you tried it out?”

“Yeah, in the lab,” Just-Harry said and pulled out a length of holly, if Ron wasn’t mistaken. “Got a bit out of hand, though. I tried that easy one, the levitating spell?”

“Wingardium Leviosa, yes. Show me what you did, I can correct you.”

Ron leaned forward, remembering vividly his own first tries with the spell, back in first year. Just-Harry fumbled a bit with the wand in his hand before giving it an awkward swish and a flick, mumbling the spell and staring at one of Hermione’s books - which promptly shot up and slammed against the ceiling with an ear-ringing slam before falling down haphazardly.

Silence descended onto the group. Then Sirius cleared his throat. “Well, it worked.”

“In a fashion,” Hermione said faintly before squaring her shoulders like that time she’d tried to teach Neville the finer points of the Polyjuice Potion. “Your swish is a bit too forceful - try to smoothen it out. It only needs to be brought to a sharp point when you flick it at the object…”

But try as she might, each time Just-Harry attempted the spell, the outcome was the same. Half an hour later, the book of Beginner Spells was in a sorry state and more than once Sirius had to jump up and get rid of the dust falling from the ceiling.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione mumbled to Ron’s surprise and shock. “It should work - it clearly does, but it’s not quite right.”

“Maybe another one?” Just-Harry tried to cheer her up, earning a bit of respect from Ron. “I can do the levitating thing without it, so maybe that’s why - I don’t need it.”

“You can do wandless magic?” Draco chimed in - he and Neville had enjoyed the show from the far end of the table, where the dust wouldn’t reach him. He sounded a bit weary. Ron didn’t blame him. The guy looked roughly their age and wandless magic was some pretty hard stuff. Even Hermione couldn’t do it quite yet.

“Well, it’s magic without this thing, anyway,” Just-Harry said with a shrug, waggling his wand before putting it down onto the table. With the flick of a finger, the abused book rose smoothly into the air before circling around, not a page in disarray. “With the wand it feels really off, somehow - like a pull?”

“Mate,” Ron said with wide eyes, following the spinning book through the air. A quick glance had him grin widely - Draco looked green with envy. “How did you learn that? I thought you grew up muggle, Ginny said you were new to magic!”

“Not magic, just this place,” Harry replied and let the book down with a satisfied air. It quickly changed back into a thoughtful frown as he picked up his wand. “Was a lot of trial and error. We tried to find someone to teach me, but it’s fucking difficult, you know? Mages are rare as is, so I had to just, well, wing it.”

“But we aren’t,” Neville said with confusion. “And I’m pretty sure there are some good schools in America. Ilvermorny, Salem, Washington State Academy. How come you never went to one?”

Blinking at them before turning to Hermione and Ginny, both seemingly undecided, Harry sighed and rubbed at his brow. When he pulled his hand away, some sort of paint was on his fingers. “I’m not from America,” he finally said, rolling his eyes when Sirius made a noise. “What? It’s not a secret. I literally parked the ship in London.”

“Are you sure…”

“Yeah. I decided to trust you lot, so why not a few more?” Just-Harry smiled sharply before looking at Ron, and suddenly he wasn’t just that odd friend but a lot more _suspicious,_ wasn’t he, with those weird lines on his face and the paint on his forehead and his wandless magic.

“I’m from space,” Just-Harry said. “Mind you, turned out Terra’s my birthplace, but I got kidnapped as a kid and that’s that.”

“Space,” Draco said evenly. “Really.”

“It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds, really,” Hermione said carefully, eyeing the boys as if waiting for some kind of outburst. Ron realized with a start that she believed the nutter.

“Hermione-” he started, but she bustled on, ignoring him in the process.

“Just think about it - we already _know_ that extraterrestrial life exists, we have the proof of that. 2011, New Mexico; 2012, New York. And 2014, London - I was _there.”_

“He’s just a bloke,” Ron blurted out, waving at Just-Harry. Or maybe Space-Harry. Or Crazy-Harry, who was now leaning back and watched the discussion unfold. “Like, how old are you, anyway?”

“Almost eighteen,” Sirius said helpfully. “His birthday is on the 31st.”

“Is it?” Crazy-Harry asked with interest, but Ron ignored the two, facing Hermione. Really, he loved her dearly, but this was just a bit too much.

Still, when they met eyes, he could see her determination. “I’m not making this up, Ron,” she said, jutting out her chin that meant she was ready to prove herself right. “It all fits, and Mr Stark said-”

“Yeah, well, he could lie, can’t he?” Draco chimed in.

“He didn’t!” Hermione said aghast.

“I mean, he was a bit crazy too,” Sirius said thoughtfully, before hastily adding: “But Hermione’s right, it’s not a lie.”

“Yep,” Ginny added with a cheeky grin.

“You, too?” Neville groaned.

A hum had Ron look back at the source of their discord - Harry watched them all with a confused expression before leaning towards Hermione. “You know,” he said conversationally, idly flicking his wand and watching the sparks with wary interest. “I could take you lot for a ride. Would be faster than shouting.”

Ginny let out a loud whoop.

~~~

An hour and a brisk walk across muggle London later, Ginny was sitting smugly next to Harry, her feet kicked up and eyes rapt on the scenery in front of her.

Behind them, strapped into the comfortable seats, were Sirius, Hermione and the three sceptics, all of them gaping as the ship lazily floated in orbit. Every now and then, an odd voice spoke in a foreign language - Ginny imagined that it was the language that matched the funny writings on the translucent screens in front of Harry.

“Terra is a bit isolated, mainly because of politics - it’s theoretically part of Asgardian territory. The next point of civilisation is a few day’s worth of travel away…” Harry’s voice dropped to a mumble as he navigated his screens. Ginny wished she could understand whatever he was looking through. “The moon’s an hour away - can’t get faster this close to other planetary bodies.”

“The moon,” Draco said faintly and Ginny finally turned around on her prize seat - the co-pilot’s one, Harry’d told her -, grinning widely at her friends.

“The _moon,”_ she repeated giddily. “Ron, the _**moon!”**_

“Don’t talk to me,” her brother said, face almost plastered against the windshield that curved over the whole cockpit to get a glance off Earth. “To think you wanted to keep this from me - my own sister…”

“The moon,” Draco repeated, dazed and looking forward, hands gripping his armrests so hard his knuckles went wide with it.

“I’m game,” Neville said cheerfully, bless him, and gave Ginny a grin before wrapping his arm around his boyfriend to soothe the poor guy. “Sirius?”

The man looked away from the stars around them, blinking owlishly. “Huh? Er, yeah, sure.”

~~~

Somewhere during the trip, Neville noticed Draco not staring out of the windows like the others, but at Harry, who was expertly navigating the ‘spaceship’ towards the vast expense of the moon. It all felt rather unreal, which was probably why Neville wasn’t freaking out himself. Still, he breathed out, finally relaxing properly when his boyfriend’s eyes lost the dull sheen of his shock.

“Welcome back,” he whispered and grinned when Draco snorted. “What’s on your mind?”

“You mean other than the fact that we’re sitting in some alien muggle contraption, our lives entrusted to some weird alien stranger our friends and _Cousin Sirius_ trust for some reason?” he hissed.

“He seems alright,” Neville said, trying not to think that they were in space with nothing more than what looked like clear glass between them and whatever was outside. He wondered if a bubble-head charm would be useful out here.

“Apparently,” Draco groused, eyes still fixed on the subject of his worries. “But why do they trust him? He’s a complete stranger, the only reason they know of him is the muggle Stark. Sure, that’s a good enough reason, but why would Sirius be part of it then…”

Neville hummed, looking from Sirius Black to the back of Harry’s head. The things he’d said about himself, the few tidbits of information the girls had dropped, Sirius’ odd behaviour… old rumours came to mind, long-forgotten headlines of the Daily Prophet. He snorted a bit at that thought, shaking his head. “It’s like he’s Harry Potter,” he murmured and raised his brows when that got Draco’s attention. “Our age, called Harry, kidnapped by aliens - you remember those stories, back in first year when the Prophet decided to air out previous headlines?”

“About Potter being kidnapped by muggles?” Draco said slowly and suddenly, they both stared widely at each other. Because despite Neville’s jokes, it did fit all together rather nicely, didn’t it? And given Sirius’ rather sappy looks…

“Sirius Black is Harry Potter’s godfather,” Neville said softly. “Who got kidnapped at a young age, never to be seen again. Who’d be our age, around eighteen, and is prominently described as having his mother’s eyes.”

“And in the pictures, Lily Potter’s eyes were green,” Draco continued the thought, sounding just as excited as Neville felt. “But why would he be back? He sounded like this was all a surprise for him too.”

“How would I know?” Neville shrugged, but the excited, giddy feeling didn’t leave him. “No wonder it’s such a huge secret.”

“Should we tell Ron, then?”

“Absolutely.”

~~~

“So, how was it?”

Harry scratched Azha’s chin, not looking up when he heard Tony’s casual question. He’d walked straight to the man’s workshop - with the time difference, it was barely evening in New York State. “It was fine. We flew to the moon,” he finally said, grinning when Azha bit his finger.

“You _what?”_

~~~

 **July 17th, 2015**  
Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic

Celestine Makepeace loved her work, even those projects obscure and slow in progression. The work with the caught Dark Elves and the following fledgeling investigations into not only extraterrestrial life, but also extraterrestrial _magic,_ gave her enough mysteries to solve to probably last for the next decade. If only their ‘guests’ were a bit easier to interrogate - with their foreign magic and physique, the Department’s benign methods didn’t work as well as they would on humans, making it hard to extract any useful information.

Which had many people trying to breathe down her neck, claiming for answers to truly idiotic questions. Since none of those people was one of her colleagues and thus in no position to demand answers from her, she’d simply been ignoring them since the event two years ago. The Department naturally wasn’t going to push her to rush things.

(They all knew perfectly well what happened when you rushed things - Pericles Pratt's eyebrows had never regrown the same and still moved around his face like hairy caterpillars when he was agitated.)

No, she collected the few bits of information pried from their guests’ brains, the small puzzle pieces that gave her the smallest of glances of a beautiful and vast cosmos full of alien civilisations, patiently putting them together. And if the Department put some of their budget into watching the skies, well, it wasn’t as if they didn’t yield _some_ data from it, especially in the last couple of weeks. Just this Saturday they’d seen some movement around the moon.

It was all quite exciting, despite the lack of portals.

So when Hermione Granger came by, disturbing Celestine’s work - and Hermione’s own work, she was supposed to be cross-referencing with the Scandinavian section of the archives - to ask a question, Celestine Makepeace was, perhaps, a little put out. It wasn’t even a question about either of their current projects.

“I was just wondering if you’d know something about this kind of problem, Miss C,” Hermione said with that wonderful, but momentarily woefully displaced, determination, some curious package in her hands. “My friend seems to be unable to use his wand for even beginner spells, but he has no problems with a small selection of wandless magic.”

At least it wasn’t an idiotic question. Her eyes still on the package, Celestine hummed thoughtfully. “I’d have to see his magic work myself, but it sounds as if he has problems with more delicate work,” she said before stepping closer, her heels clicking menacingly on the stone floor. Naturally, her hand-picked apprentice didn’t so much as blink. She really liked this girl. “What’s that, then?”

“My bid for an exchange, Miss C,” Hermione said with a smile. “Your help with my issue for this.” She opened the package, revealing a dull stone.

Oh, this was priceless. “Do I look cheap, darling?” she asked, raising one eyebrow. Only for Hermione to smile even wider. Something was off. Frowning a bit and wishing for a cigarette, Celestine reached out for the stone, tapping it with her wand. And then she did it again, murmuring as the readings came back to her.

“Oh, my,” she finally said with satisfaction and curiosity. A lunar stone, and quite fresh, with no indication it had reached Earth in the most expected fashion. It missed the burnt sheen it would gain when falling through the atmosphere. “And where did you get something like this, Hermione dear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 3989


	11. Deadcrush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadcrush - alt-J
> 
> All my thanks to EssayOfThoughts and cb3, who've yet again come through. Essay wrote most of Pietro's scene - she has a way with the Maximoffs (and other characters like Luna and Vision) that I envy.

**July 20th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Pietro tried not to snarl with frustration and only really succeeded because he wasn’t going to openly admit Wanda was right. Third pair of trousers worn threadbare in as many days, sixth pair of trainers. At least when they’d been on the streets, occasional theft had been necessary just to survive: now they had _money_ to hand he didn’t want to spend it willy-nilly - not if there was a way to save it.

And there was. It just meant dealing with _Stark._

Still, there really wasn’t anything else for it. Wanda wanted him to get along better with everyone, including Stark, and if Stark was meant to supply the team with what gear they needed-

Well, Pietro needed clothes that didn’t wear down to the bone in three seconds flat. Exasperated, he grabbed the last two sets of trousers and his shoes and made his way through the compound to the labs. It was where Tony most reliably could be found, at least those days he’d decided to watch Stark to try to see why Wanda wanted them to play nice. He didn’t doubt she had a reason, he just had no idea what that reason was.

The doors nearer to the labs were better protected; Friday’s voice ringing out as he neared the first set of shut glass doors.

“Hello, Mr Maximoff. What brings you down here today?”

Tiredly, he waved his worn down clothes at the camera nestled almost invisibly in the corner of the corridor. 

“My speed destroys my clothes,” he said as simply as he could manage. “Apparently Stark has fabric that can survive it. Is he in?”

There was a pause from the AI that seemed almost thoughtful. “He is,” she replied eventually. “I’ll see if he’s taking visitors.”

It was less time than Pietro expected before the doors slid open. 

“Third door down, in the workshop,” Friday said. “Be careful - Dummy made a mess.”

Pietro couldn’t help but snort at the comment - he’d never heard the AI calling Stark a dummy, but he wouldn’t be the one to stop her. “Thanks,” he said instead, entering the wing. It was early in the afternoon, which meant people still working here. Stark Industries employees, some wearing appropriate lab coats, others not bothering with them, all of them pretty much strangers to his eyes. Finding Stark’s hideout, however, was relatively easy and the opaque doors opened for him the moment he stepped in front of them.

It was a large room. Gleaming metal and glass surfaces stretched out before him - for a moment he considered just how much a mess he could make if he decided to… but there was such a mess already, multitools scattered across workbenches, half-completed projects on their own separate stands. There was even what looked like part of a new Iron Man suit in one corner - or perhaps an older one undergoing repairs, Pietro wasn’t sure.

In the midst of it all, Stark was standing, a smear of grease across his forehead, expression equal parts confusion and surprise. 

“Hi?” he said.

 _Ugh._ He really didn’t want to be here. But Wanda said to play nice, and he needed new clothes so against his better judgement he shuffled carefully through the mess of parts on the floor - and a robot that seemed to be trying to keep him away from a puddle of oil - and towards Stark. 

“My clothes,” he said, setting them down on a small clear patch of worktop. “They keep wearing out. At the castle Strucker’s men-” He paused, made himself admit as to who it was had lied to himself and to Wanda. _“Hydra_ had made a few things that lasted, but never more than a few days. Nothing else has lasted as long.” He scowled as he pointed at the damage to his trainers. “I am on my last pair. Wanda said you could help.”

Stark didn’t say anything for a long moment and eventually, Pietro looked up from scowling at his clothes. Stark looked baffled which honestly… if anything set Pietro more at ease. _Good._ Stark was as uncomfortable with this as he was. That was something at least.

“Can you help?” he asked and Stark jumped. 

“I- yeah, sure. I mean, I’d have to configure a new fabric but I have a few examples already, there’s a few options that could probably help, but you’d probably want breathability as well, right, if you’re running a lot-” He cut himself off - probably, Pietro thought, because he was still scowling. “Uh. Yeah. I can help.”

Pietro had never felt this awkward in his _entire life._

“Okay,” he said. “Good.”

After three more seconds of silence, Pietro sprinted away.

~~~

Tony stared at the closed door. Then he lowered his gaze and stared at the pile of pants and shoes on his worktable. “Friday,” he heard himself saying. “Give me the specs of Natasha’s and Capsicle’s gear, please. And Bruce’s special pants.”

Behind him, several holograms came to life, but Tony was still contemplating what just happened. He was pretty sure that neither of the twins had asked him for more than to pass the salt during the rare times he managed to join the team for dinner - and that had been once, and it had been Wanda Maximoff, not her twin brother.

Who just came down to his workshop. To ask him for new clothes.

Turning around, he started surveying the options he had. There were a lot of different fabrics he could start from, but the three he’d chosen were the most likely to work well for this project. Each was quite different because they had been designed to survive different stress levels, but… his eyes lingered on the specs of Steve’s special uniform. It wasn’t nearly enough to withstand the kind of chafing Pietro would create with his speed (and how fast could the kid run, anyway? He’d need to do some testing, to see how hardy he’d have to make the clothes. A few days his arse - he’d give him something that’d hold for _months),_ but it was a good start. Steve was faster on his feet than most other Avengers.

The numbers and calculations flitting through his mind were not quite enough to drown out his _other_ thoughts - especially that one voice sounding suspiciously like their resident redheaded superspy. She and Steve had been talking to him a lot about the twins, probably to avoid any lingering hostility that might flare up between them. Tony had mostly tried to keep away from them, even after noticing that Wanda Maximoff tried to be cordial as well.

Maybe it’d helped. Maybe he’d done something right. Now all he had to do was not fuck this up. Running gear should be easy enough - maybe casual clothing as well? The kid said that most of his stuff was broken, right? “Friday, can you order some outfits for him?” he said, distracted with his plans of a full wardrobe of speed-tested garments. “New shoes, too. This might take a bit longer.”

Maybe he could make something for Wanda as well.

~~~

 **July 29th, 2015**  
Grimmauld Place, London

Narcissa sipped from the dainty teacup, enjoying the fragrant rose brew. Diagon Alley was bustling even this early in the afternoon, creating a nice background buzz of many voices and busy sounds. Finishing her tea, she stayed for a few minutes more before taking her leave.

Curiosity niggled at the back of her mind, urging her to walk a bit faster, to reach the apparition point in less time, but Narcissa ignored those thoughts - no matter how intriguing the behaviour of her cousin _and_ her son was, surely the secret they were keeping from her wasn’t so urgent as for her to run. There was plenty of time left, after all - she’d only left Grimmauld Place to ‘visit her dear sister’ an hour ago.

How Sirius thought himself subtle in his constant badgering of Narcissa to see Andromeda, she didn’t know. Draco clearly didn’t know of the blatantly obvious methods to keep her away _twice a week_ for the last fortnight. At least she hoped that her own son was smarter than that. At first, she’d thought of giving both of them the time to come around, but while she was usually rather patient, that didn’t include poor thinking.

Which was why Narcissa went right back to Grimmauld Place instead of apparating to the Tonks house. It was beyond time for her to see what her foolish boys were up to.

Apparition was, as always, a wholly uncomfortable affair. It always left her robes a bit rumpled. Fixing that with a deft flick of her wand, she turned towards the building that had become something like _home_ to her. It wasn’t the house she’d grown up in, nor was it Malfoy Manor, but Grimmauld Place was where she lived and, more importantly, so did Draco. A smile threatened to soften her expression and after a moment she allowed it to. Whatever secret there was, she’d first try to charm it out of them.

The first thing she noticed upon opening the front door were the voices drifting up from the kitchen entrance. Those were Draco’s friends, clearly debating… Transfiguration? She stopped for a moment just to make sure. Yes, Transfiguration. _First year Transfiguration,_ to be precise.

Just as Narcissa was about to reach the steps leading down to the kitchen, a loud clatter and crack drowned the youthful voices, followed by shrieks and - laughter. The smile didn’t slip from her lips during the last few steps, even if it wanted to.

“Good afternoon. Draco, darling, weren’t you off to visit the Weasleys today?” Her pleasant tone was testimony to her adamant self-control because the kitchen table was a mess of broken matches and plates. Some of them glinted metallic, others were burnt to a crisp, staining the old wooden table with ashes. Surrounding the table sat Draco and his friends, together with Sirius and, oddly in the midst of all, a face that had Narcissa hesitating for just a moment or two before making her way into the kitchen proper, her airy summer robes swishing around her ankles.

“Cissy,” Sirius said, looking as shocked as she’d thought he would. Her own son was, thankfully, not as surprised, although he did send Sirius his own set of disgruntled glances before trying a soothing smile at her.

“Mother,” he said and her own smile stretched a bit more genuinely over her lips. Receiving his greeting kiss to the cheek, she pressed her own to his and Neville’s before ignoring her sputtering cousin in favour of greeting her son’s friends.

 _Especially_ the new face with those curious subtle lines and eyes she’d only seen once before.

“Mrs Narcissa Black,” she said and offered the youth her hand. It took him a while before figuring out what she wanted - not a Pureblood, then. But he did take it, after a whisper of Hermione Granger, and shook it with a careful hold as if afraid to break her fingers.

“Harry,” he replied. Narcissa raised her eyebrows at the shortness of it, and with a startled blink, the young man added: “Potter.” Like a question rather than a proper answer. He clearly didn’t know how to behave around her, or what weight his last name had. But that wasn’t all that caught Narcissa’s attention - it was his voice that rang with a soft echo. The first and foremost layer had a nondescript American accent to it, but the second, more subtle one, eluded her entirely. Taking another glance at the barely-perceptible lines on his face, she wondered where exactly this young man came from.

“Harry,” little Miss Weasley hissed and a quick glance told Narcissa that Sirius, too, wasn’t happy with the situation. Not that Narcissa particularly cared - not with those eyes and that name and the edges of a scar visible underneath smudged make-up.

“How very nice to meet you, Mr Potter,” she said instead, showing neither surprise nor reproach. Her smile and the little pat to his hand seemed to flummox the young man. “I do hope I haven’t disturbed this… lesson.”

And Harry Potter shook his head, which neatly shut up any protest the others could bring forward. It was nice to know that she was right, although what exactly a boy missing for more than a decade was doing in her home eluded her. Or why he’d need an education in basic Transfiguration.

Sirius and Miss Granger exchanged helpless looks. Draco, meanwhile, seemed to be quite smug about her presence. The others simply accepted the new situation, even if they didn’t understand it.

Narcissa took her seat next to her son, intrigued and glad that she had decided to forgo her sisterly visit, eyes rapt on the alleged Boy-Who-Lived, who seemed quite confused in her presence.

How delightful. “Please, continue.”

“Ah, er, yes,” Miss Granger said haltingly, again exchanging _looks_ with Sirius. Narcissa simply kept on smiling as she rearranged the skirts of her closed-front robes. “Why don’t we try something else, then?”

The lesson was a bit fumbled, but just as before, they seemed to be trying to teach the Potter boy things every first year in Hogwarts learned. It was more a lesson in patience than actual Transfiguration, however, and soon the stone, which ought to be changed into quartz, shuddered and broke.

“He’s doing everything right, as far as we can tell,” Draco whispered into her ear, a steady source of information. “But nothing works as it should.”

“Hmh,” she hummed, neither dismissal nor confirmation. Next to her, Sirius was clearly anxious, obviously wanting to speak to her as well. Him, she ignored - he should’ve told her from the beginning, after all. “And how did he come to be here?” She finally asked softly, not taking her eyes away from Harry Potter’s frowning face.

“Hermione found him. Or he found her, through a mutual friend. I’ll tell you later if he agrees.”

She nodded after a moment. “Do convince him, my darling. I don’t appreciate the secrecy.”

Draco grimaced slightly before sighing - he’d try and talk the boy around, then. This handled, she turned her attention fully on Potter and Granger and, occasionally, the other youths at the table who were trying to find out why no spell would work for him. Now and then, during one of Granger’s lectures, Potter would look up to her, green eyes raptly taking in both her face and her clothing. But not in the flushed, awkward way a teenage boy might consider Narcissa - she knew she was beautiful even in her age and would’ve noticed that kind of attention.

No, his eyes lingered on the curl of her hair and the make of her robes and her posture without the marks of attraction. Only intrigue and confusion and a measure of bafflement showed on his face and in his eyes. As if this was the first time he had seen someone like her, a pureblooded lady of certain wealth.

His looks, however, weren’t the only things she noticed. Her presence put an awkward twist to Miss Granger’s words and gestures. A liar she was not, the young Muggleborn witch, no matter how brilliant she was. No, she was just as transparent as her dear cousin and clearly hiding something. It took awhile for Narcissa to notice a pattern in her speech - how she’d try and find a solution to Potter’s problems before mentioning Hogwarts, of all things, and how it’d been taught there before she attempted to tweak the spell for his convenience, which would fail just as badly.

Moreso, almost every time Miss Granger made a halting remark of her alma mater, Sirius would chime in too with some short little anecdote. It was adorable, really, how obvious their intentions were. And with the identity of the youth in front of her, it wasn’t a difficult thing for Narcissa to guess as to why the two wanted Harry to become interested in Hogwarts.

Mostly, however, she felt a certain amount of pity for Miss Granger and Sirius because through it all, the Potter boy remained perfectly oblivious to their hinting. Or he simply ignored their attempts. It might even be her fault, distracting him with her presence alone.

So when another failed transfiguration brought a lull to their discussion, she didn’t hesitate to take on the opportunity to… help. Who knew when she could make use of that debt later on? “Do excuse the disruption,” she said and immediately, the Potter boy was looking up again. He had a nice, even gaze, unafraid even when flummoxed. “But would it not be better to ask for professional help in these matters? Mr Potter’s wandwork and incantations are as good as they’ll ever be, and clearly he possesses magic. Whatever hinders him from performing these spells might very well be something only a Master can identify. Someone like Professor Flitwick, or even Professor Dumbledore.”

Miss Granger had looked increasingly anxious during Narcissa’s speech, but now she perked up, eyes gleaming after noticing what the woman was up to. Narcissa gave her an indulgent smile before continuing. “If it wouldn’t be a bother to you, Mr Potter, I can certainly ask them to allow you a visit. Not only for that, but also to take a look at the school itself. I understand you are James and Lily Potter’s child? They, like Sirius and I, all went to Hogwarts, too.” She didn’t ask for his old school - he might very well be completely Muggle raised, with how little he knew about Magic that he had to be taught these kinds of spells. His clothing spoke of Muggle as well, even if he didn’t show any surprise at the casual wandwork of the other youths around him.

“I’m not sure,” he finally spoke after a few moments of silence. Again there was this echo to his voice, like a different language entirely. “It’s not that much of a deal-”

“But it is,” Miss Granger neatly inserted herself. No wonder Mr Weasley had fallen for her - her eyes grew big in pleading, even when it was clear that she was inappropriately invested in getting Mr Potter to agree. “I’m sure they can help out with this. And it’s just for a look - when we know _why,_ we surely can work out a _how?_ Don’t you want to learn?”

“Mr Potter,” Narcissa said again, before he could answer in haste. “It only costs a simple letter. Don’t worry about overstepping.” She held his gaze for as long as it took him to finally nod. When she smiled, bright and genuine this time, he looked a bit taken aback. Poor boy - he really didn’t know how to interact with her, didn’t he? “Very good. I’ll go and send a letter. How about this Saturday?” Another nod, clearly overwhelmed by her sudden energetic demeanour.

“Thank you, Mrs Black,” Miss Granger said.

“I do what I can,” she replied serenely and stood up, smoothing out the kinks in her robes. “Well, as pleasant as this was, I do have to attend to my correspondence. It was lovely to meet you, Mr Potter. Miss Granger, Miss and Mr Weasley, Neville.”

With a last look at her cousin, who was scowling, and her son, who nodded in her direction, Narcissa took her leave, feeling quite accomplished with herself. This, she knew, was something she’d keep a close eye on.

~~~

Harry couldn’t quite help himself but stare after the woman, feeling thoroughly wrong-footed for some odd reason. She’d just been a bit… too much. Not in a bad way, just strange.

During his turbulent life, he’d come across a whole host of different people. From the good to the bad, the thugs and thieves and stupid and cunning, he’d had his fair share of experiences with different personalities. But this was the first time he’d ever encountered someone like Narcissa Black. She looked and spoke and acted like some sort of nobility. Perfumed and soft, but her eyes sharp and intelligent, with expensive-looking clothing and not one hair out of order.

Ron’s loud snort brought him back to the present. “Mate,” the lanky young man said, grinning. “What’s with you?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, eyes back to his current company. The grin on his lips felt distinctively sheepish and he dropped it after a moment. “Just never thought to get handled like that. Smooth.”

“Careful, Potter,” Draco said, but he was smiling faintly. “You’re talking about my mother.”

“And what do you mean with being handled?” Hermione added, her words spilling out a tad faster than normal.

“The Hogwarts thing,” he said absentmindedly, eyes still on Draco. Ignoring Hermione’s sputter, he leaned a bit forward. “You and her, you’re like, noble, right? Your mom’s scary smart with people.”

He liked the way Draco’s lips twitched upwards, pleased and maybe a bit preening. “We don’t really have royalty and nobility, but there are some very old Houses - families - in wizarding Britain. She was a Black and married a Malfoy.”

“Yeah, but Sirius ain’t like her.”

That startled a laugh out of his godfather. “I hope not! Too stiff for me.”

“I still don’t know what you mean, Harry.”

At Hermione’s words, Harry forced himself to shake off his curious admiration for Draco Malfoy’s mother. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned towards the nervous young woman. “You name-dropped your old school every ten minutes. Then Mrs Black comes in, listens for half an hour and takes over the conversation. Before I know it, we’re all planning some consultation at Hogwarts, at which point you suddenly relaxed,” he explained and nodded towards Sirius. “He was the same. Hyper-aware whenever someone said ‘Hogwarts’ or ‘school’. So, I gather this is something important I have to do and she just helped you out big time.”

He watched her face with interest as a host of different emotions fought for dominance. But then she simply exhaled, shoulders slumping and all, before nodding affirmative. “You’d have been in our year,” she told him.

“So, it’s personal?”

Another moment of hesitation. Something else as well, then. She wasn’t lying but holding back part of it. Harry thought about getting up and leaving, but he wasn’t really angry with her. She wasn’t malicious - her offer to help him was genuine. Whatever she wanted to do with him in this school, it wouldn’t be bad. “You could’ve just asked, you know,” he added, keeping his voice friendly and a smile on his lips. She ducked her head but he could see that his lack of reaction helped her to relax.

“Sorry, Harry.”

“And it’s not like Cissy lied, either,” Sirius added with a pat to Harry’s shoulder. “The Professors are the most likely to help you, if you don’t fancy visiting the Unspeakables.”

“The hell are those?” Harry asked and huffed when most of them simply shrugged.

~~~

 **July 29th, 2015**  
Hermione’s Home, London

Hermione stared at the blank page of parchment, her fingers fiddling with the plain feather. After another moment, she dipped the sharp point into the ink and started to write.

_Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_As I’m sure you’ll know by now, we managed to convince Harry to visit Hogwarts. I hope that Mrs Black’s awareness of Harry won’t be a problem - she surprised us during one of our tutoring sessions but continued to help Sirius and me in talking Harry into this visit._

She stopped and looked out of her window - it was already dark and Harry long gone. Biting her lip, she shook her head and continued to write, this time with an air of conviction.

_I don’t want to be blunt, Headmaster, but as sure as I am of your good intentions, I don’t plan to lie to Harry much longer. After our visit - where I hope that you, and Professor Flitwick should he be available, might be able to figure out Harry’s problem with his wandwork - I’ll tell him the full truth should you not do so yourself. He’s my friend, after all, and I hope that he sees me as his as well._

_Hermione Granger._

After signing her name, she waited for the ink to dry and sent it off with the owl her parents had bought during her fifth year - during her OWLs, she’d quite forgotten to write to them as much as they’d agreed upon before, at which point her bemused parents had taken matters into their own hands. Now she was glad for it as she sent Artemis flying. The Headmaster had, after all, no phone.

Speaking of phones, her own was still on the desk. With a frustrated huff, she took it and put in a number before she could chicken out. Writing to the Headmaster had been daunting enough and she kind of wished that Sirius had taken over _that_ particular conversation, but her next call was even worse.

It only took a few moments before Tony Stark answered. _“Yes? Hermione, right?”_

“I’m sorry for bothering you, Mr Stark,” she said, not quite able to keep her nerves down. Silently she cursed Miss C, but she also felt more than just a little bit giddy about what she was going to ask. “I had a question for you, or rather a proposal, if you’re interested.”

 _“Shoot,”_ came the reply and she couldn’t help but grin, his interest evident in his voice.

“It’s about a project that started a few years back in school,” she said, sitting down again and pushing back her hair. “We call it MagiTech…”

~~~

 **July 29th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Tony motioned for Friday to end the call. And then he looked over to Bruce, who was taking off his glasses to give them a quick cleaning with his shirt.

“What do you think?” he asked, dropping his gaze back to the holograms between them, spanning the whole length and width of the interactive table. They were in one of the laboratories that they’d taken over, dedicated to what they called their ‘magical science’. Most of the books he’d bought back in Diagon Alley were already fully scanned and converted into digital data, folders upon folders of information they were currently passing through.

“Well,” Bruce said evenly, a smile tugging at his lips before putting his glasses back on and nudging them into place. “You can always sue them.” He looked amused.

“As if,” Tony said with a snort, pulling another folder towards him to drop a file on Charms in it. Another file landed in their growing _History_ folder, which they’d tackle first. “Too much potential. ‘Sides, it’s another foot in the door. Magical communication, I bet you can’t track that if you don’t know about it.”

“So you’re going to help them with their phones?”

“Why not? I can make the time. You can come, too. We can test the potion when we’re there.”

His friend stopped for a moment before adopting a wistful look. “It might help, but… I’d rather we do our testing here. Not in the middle of London.”

“Deal,” Tony said before Bruce could add more to it. Grinning, he tossed another few files into the matching folders. “And let’s get Harry to help us with this tomorrow. Bet you he’ll want to know more about this Dark Lord as well. Friday, can you prepare a reading list? Everything with the Dark Lord in it, please.”

“Sure, Boss!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 4630


	12. Sweet Tooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Tooth - Scott Helman
> 
> Surprise early update! Thanks to **EssayOfThoughts** and **cb3** for being wonderful and entirely smarter than I. Especially Essay helped me with setting something up - can you find it?

**August 1st, 2015**  
Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade

Sirius stumbled out of the fireplace, just barely catching his balance before stepping to the side. Behind him, the merry flames turned green yet again, spitting out his godson, who managed not to brain himself on the nearby table. His little kneazle kitten was clawing at Harry’s hands, hissing and covered in soot.

“Hold still,” a familiar voice chided him before a wash of magic pulled at his clothes and his hair, taking the soot of the floo ride with it.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Sirius said with a grimace and watched the young woman repeat the spell on Harry and Azha. “You okay?”

It took the young man a moment to collect himself, his eyes moving from Hermione over to Rosmerta before taking in the interior of the Three Broomsticks. “It was… an experience,” Harry finally said and patted himself down as if to make sure that nothing got lost, checking on Azha as he did so. The cat nipped at his fingers but settled quickly. “We could’ve taken my ship, you know.”

“And where would’ve been the fun in that? Magical transport is part of the whole education thing, I’m pretty sure. Floo, apparition, brooms-”

“Haven’t tried those yet,” the boy mused. A few weeks passed since they’d finally met, and it was still so fucking easy for Harry to hit Sirius where it hurt. “Tony bought a couple, actually. But we haven’t gotten around to test them.”

“We can try it out later today,” Sirius said because like hell he’d let Tony Stark be the first to introduce his godson to Quidditch. “Give you a bit of a leg up.”

“Do brooms even work for Muggles?” Hermione wondered, her voice low as she glanced over to Rosmerta.

The pretty owner of the pub seemed curious about both Hermione and Sirius Black being in Hogsmeade during summer hols, but she kept herself busy at the bar after a wink at Sirius himself when he followed Hermione’s eyes. He felt the delighted grin forming on his lips, even after looking back at his two young companions. “Probably not the same as for us, if at all. Let’s get going, it’s almost time.”

He could hardly wait for Harry to get his first view of Hogwarts, something that was an important part of childhood for most of the British magical population. Even within the community, Hogwarts was something special; for centuries, the school had been the central point of their education and thus was one of the most magical places on the isles. It definitely was the most known and popular one.

Sure, Sirius could do without Albus Dumbledore eagerly waiting for his godson; without whatever threats the wizened Headmaster saw in their future that meant he’d want to meet Harry so soon. Maybe Sirius should’ve told him no. Maybe Sirius should’ve informed Harry about who, exactly, had put that spell on him that caused him to seek out Hermione.

On the other hand, Dumbledore was mostly right when he said something was necessary. And it wouldn’t hurt to see what the Headmaster had planned for his godson. Still, Sirius would keep a close eye on today’s meeting and any following as well. Exchanging a look with Hermione, he knew that the young woman was of the same mind. Neither of them had been able to deny Dumbledore his wish - especially not after what had happened to poor Ginny and that McLaggan boy at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. It was only a matter of time until Harry’s presence in Britain was announced in the news, so they’d do better to be prepared.

“There,” he heard Hermione say as they walked towards the end of Hogsmeade. “Just after that bend - that’s Hogwarts!”

The castle came in sight, but Sirius couldn’t pull his eyes off his godson who was staring up and ahead. Like most people, Sirius' first proper look of Hogwarts had been during nightfall, with the castle looming above the firsties huddling in their little boats, every window lit with a warm, welcoming light. During the day, however, Hogwarts was no less impressive and Sirius noticed with some smugness how Harry tried to take it all in - the towers and spires and gargoyles; the different styles added to the original building blending together; the sun glinting off the windows; the sheer age of the castle built upon that hill with the vast lake right next to it, the grounds around sprawling and green; the little gamekeeper’s hut tucked close to the dark and foreboding forest surrounding the school.

It was years too late for his godson to see this place, but Sirius was here, showing him what should’ve been a second home to the young man who never had the chance. It was a bittersweet feeling pressing down onto his chest, but he couldn’t help but hold it close.

~~~

 **August 1st, 2015**  
Hogwarts

Walking through a heavy set of wooden doors large enough for _Kronans_ to use, Harry tried to sort his thoughts. He’d heard of Hogwarts, obviously - both Hermione and Sirius hadn’t been very subtle about their wish for him to visit their old school. And whenever the topic had been brought up, everyone he knew in Britain was able to chime in and add their piece.

He’d heard that it was a school for Terra’s mages. He’d heard that it was a castle up north. He _knew_ it was magical. But all those concepts hadn’t been impressive on their own, and he’d never known how to put the pieces together. Not like this.

Because Hogwarts wasn’t the biggest building he’d ever seen. It wasn’t the oldest, either. Nor was it the first school Harry’d ever set foot into, no matter how uncomfortable _that_ thought was, what with the memories attached. He’d seen historical sites on other planets, visited cultural points of interest of many species, hell, he’d even googled Terran castles before. And yet, somehow, this specific castle managed to stand out in a way that Harry couldn’t name.

He was impressed, more than Diagon Alley had impressed him with all of its casual magic and fantastical things. The very air around the castle was _shimmering_ with latent magic, tasting vaguely like copper on his tongue each time he swallowed. It was a weight against all the mechanical parts inside his body, a presence right behind his eyes.

Hogwarts was undeniably, gloriously, _unbearably_ magical.

Next to him, Sirius was talking - some trivia about the building and its founders. He listened with one ear as he watched a number of marble staircases move around above his head, rearranging themselves in a confusing dance with no visible pattern. The walls were plastered with framed paintings that moved around, their whispers and gossip echoing in his head. Hundreds of eyes watched the trio move forward and step onto the first set of stairs that lifted them up and towards another and another and another until Hermione led them into a corridor.

Here, too, he saw paintings on the left side of the corridor. The right side sported high windows and little nooks and finely crafted tapestries. The stitched figures, Harry noted, were moving around as well.

“It’s like they’re alive,” he said when he found the words, after long minutes of following Hermione and Sirius and listening to their little stories. “The pictures. That one is staring at me.” He pointed at a portrait of an old man in heavy robes, who was indeed frowning at the group, particularly at Harry.

 _“That one_ has a name, young man,” the painting snapped back - not in the almost unrealistic whispering quality Harry had heard before, but in clear, decisive words directed at him. Azha, from her place on Harry’s shoulder, hissed at it.

“Don’t mind them, Harry,” Hermione said with an impressive eye-roll and pulled Harry away from the ranting picture before he could poke it. “And they’re semi-sentient. I read about them - there’s a spell and some potions involved in their making, but it mainly falls under Sympathetic Magic. Frazer’s Law of Contagion, to be precise - basically the idea that two things once connected will still bear a link even after being separated, in this case by the death of the ‘original’. You make an impression of the person’s nature and self and bind it to the painting of them.” She stopped her brisk pace and hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, it’s quite interesting, since they don’t properly ‘wake up’ before the source of the impression dies. It’s a shame, really, that not much is known about the process. It’s a trade secret, or some such nonsense.”

“So, they’re copies of the originals?”

“Mostly,” Hermione agreed, but she didn’t seem happy with the answer. “They’re a bit like ghosts, I think.”

Looking around as they climbed yet another set of stairs, for some reason hidden behind an elaborate tapestry depicting a sleeping, winged reptile, Harry snorted softly. “Let me guess, I’ll see a ‘ghost’ today?” he asked, not quite able to keep the mocking out of his voice.

It only earned him a deadpan stare from both Hermione and Sirius.

“I told you ghosts are real,” the man said as they exited the staircase. This time, the corridor they entered lacked any windows but was brightly lit with several torches. At one side, a bit farther ahead, stood an ugly stone statue, but that was about the only piece of decoration here.

“Sure,” Harry scoffed. He knew that some people, like Sorcerers, could step out of their bodies - at least that one Lem had told him such - but once you died, that was it. Ghost stories were the same everywhere in the known universe: made to frighten kids and the more gullible adults.

“You’ll see,” Sirius said with a grin, not even a bit offended that Harry saw right through his pranking attempt. And then he added: “Sugar Quills.”

Directed at the ugly statue.

Which moved to the side with a great huff, exposing a doorway and _even more stairs._

“Just one step further,” Hermione said with far too much cheer, pushing lightly against Harry’s back. Giving her a bemused look, he followed Sirius, who was already bounding up. Without so much as a rumble or hitch, the stairs started sliding upwards in a tight spiral that ended in front of a wooden door, the metal fittings likened to curling vines and floral motifs.

“Enter,” someone said on the other side and without waiting, Sirius opened the door to a room that felt like the epicentre of the lingering magic all around Harry, who couldn’t help but swallow at the sensation of warmth brushing against his skin.

Two people waited for them in what had to be the Headmaster’s office - a very old man and one dressed all in black. But neither caught Harry’s eye in that first moment of entering the office. It was the animal perched next to an ornate office table, coloured window panes filtering sunlight as a bright backdrop for the bird. Like the castle, this bird wasn’t the biggest winged or feathered animal Harry had ever seen, but it was without the doubt the most beautiful one with its scarlet and golden plumage that reminded him oddly of flames. The tilt of the head gave the neck an elegant curve and put emphasis on the long lashes surrounding beady, black eyes.

The bird positively _bled_ magic in large wafts, soothing and crisp and warm. And after a few moments of eye contact, it rustled its wings and trilled its greeting, the sound wrapping around Harry like a blanket.

“Huh,” he said, feeling no guilt for ignoring his other hosts as he stepped forward, taking in the details of the rich plumage, eyes whirring as he zoomed in. The colours didn’t move, yet the impression of flames was still there. Even little Azha stirred when he came closer to the bird, meowing at the other animal inquisitively.

 _“Harry,”_ Hermione said behind him, with great exasperation in her voice. “I know Fawkes is very impressive, but can you wait until greetings are over?”

With a great sigh, Harry looked away from the bird and towards the two strangers watching him. “Hi, I’m Harry,” he said, which had Sirius break into muffled laughter and earned him a light punch from the witch. “Harry Potter,” he added.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr Potter,” the old one said with a genial smile and no surprise whatsoever on his face. He sat behind the ornate desk, wearing rich, purple robes decorated with little golden stars and a matching hat. With bright blue eyes, golden glasses, and both his long beard and longer hair a pure white colour, the man gave off the impression of a wizened, experienced person. And then he smiled, creating a thousand new wrinkles (both from laughter and from worry, Harry noticed) on his face. “My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am the Headmaster of this school. And this is Professor Snape. Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he replied before looking warily at the other one, the man in black. He was a lot younger than the Headmaster, with rather pale skin and a scowling expression that was framed in black, limp hair. Snape didn’t move to greet Harry personally, and when Harry gave him a smile, just to see how he’d react, the scowl simply deepened. “And thanks for this meeting. Mrs Black said you’d help me with my magic?”

“That is correct. Sadly, Professor Flitwick, our resident Charms Professor, couldn’t make it on such short notice,” Dumbledore said, seemingly amused at Snape’s antics. “Should the need arise for us to meet again over your little problem, you might still meet him.”

It was a generous offer, one that Harry didn’t trust right away. Albus Dumbledore gave off the same vibe as Hermione did when she wanted something else as well - not a direct lie, but omission. Curious, Harry peeled Azha from his shoulder and dropped her on the Headmaster’s desk.

Within moments, the kitten rushed towards the old man, where she proceeded to rub her head against his hands, allowing him to pet her.

_Interesting._

“What’s the catch, then?” Harry asked, looking up from the kitten towards the Headmaster. He’d always been a bit more straight forward than his sisters - more like Peter, really. More like Yondu and Krags, who’d rather punch a problem then talk their way around it. And while he could bullshit his way through life, right now he wanted to get to the point. “Or do you offer this to anyone?”

He bit back a grin when the dour Professor bristled at his direct words. The Headmaster, however, simply smiled - almost proudy so, which was very curious indeed. “And why would there be a catch here, Mr Potter?” Dumbledore asked, pulling his long beard away from Azha’s searching paws.

“I was told that I’m famous,” Harry replied evenly. “So that’d be an incentive. Or you want something from Mrs Black, who asked for this meeting. That’s an option, but not the most likely one - Hermione and Sirius were trying to get me here way before Mrs Black helped out. So, for some reason it’s important for me to meet you and it’s not because I’m shit with wands.”

“Harry!” Hermione hissed.

“What? I _am_ shit with my wand.”

She made a frustrated sound. Harry knew that she didn’t mean his language - well, not _only_ his language - but he wasn’t interested in mincing words and luckily, at least, the Headmaster didn’t seem to mind. If anything he seemed amused.

“You’re quite correct,” the Headmaster said. “There are other matters which need discussing. However, you were brought here today because you need help and because, doubtful though you may rightfully be, I have indeed been looking forward to meeting you.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he believed him - he’d dealt with too many untrustworthy bastards for that to be the case - but Hermione trusted him, and Sirius. Even Narcissa Black, who’d handled everyone as well as Gamora ever could, seemed to think that Dumbledore was, if not _solely_ an ally, still a good person to know nonetheless. Regardless of his belief in the man’s words, everything else gave him cause to at least hope that this could turn out peacefully. More hope than most of his dealings usually gave him anyway.

Besides, his cat liked him.

“So with that cleared up,” Harry said, his lips curling into a smile. “What is the big fuss about anyway? You made it sound like you knew I was here already.”

Not that Hermione or Sirius or one of their friends couldn’t have told the Headmaster - but if they had, he wanted to know who.

“Despite my role as a humble headmaster,” Dumbledore said with no small measure of humour, “I am nonetheless involved in a number of other organisations. Most notably our own Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards. The presence - or indeed sudden reappearance - of mysteriously vanished wizards is of interest to both.”

Which was a sideways answer if Harry's ever heard one - and with him growing up around people like Ebony Maw, he’d heard a _lot._ Dumbledore didn’t quite compare, though. Where Ebony Maw had been like a razorblade, always about to cut someone, Dumbledore reminded Harry of a Wrasnian Nectarwasp - a potential threat you shouldn’t ignore, but mostly something to be aware of more than worried about.

The _other_ man in the room, however, shared none of the good humour the Headmaster possessed. If anything, Snape looked ready to put his hands around Harry’s throat. “Let’s leave it at that, then,” Harry finally said. It didn’t dampen the clear annoyance on Snape’s face, but it helped at least Hermione to relax. “And talk shop after my lesson.”

~~~

Severus had a hard time keeping his silence, no matter how much he wanted to interrupt Albus and Potter during their little talk. First the boy ignored the Headmaster (and Severus himself), he then continued his disrespectful behaviour and boasted with his, admittedly correct, observations.

It was easy to forget haunting memories of a night many years ago, searching for clues. Easy to not think about that dreadful talk with uncaring and borderline abusive relatives. Easy to dismiss the way his heart had clenched when he’d first seen the boy again, bloodied and silent, kneeling amidst destruction.

Easy, when right now he looked more the part of James Potter than Lily Evans.

Shuddering internally, he forced his eyes away from the boy, only to catch the stare of Black. The mutt was _grinning_ at him, which had Severus bristle even more, his teeth gritting together. Why, oh why did Black have to be here as well? If only Potter hadn’t met Miss Granger so quickly, they could’ve avoided this whole mess.

 _If wishes were knuts, I’d be rich,_ he thought with a generous amount of bitterness.

“...talk shop after my lesson.”

“Shall we begin, then? From Mrs Black's letter, I gather you're having a touch of trouble with casting spells.”

Albus’ voice pulled Severus out of his contemplations and back to the situation at hand. Potter had drawn his wand - _Holly,_ Severus thought and wondered what kind of core was paired with the wood.

“What kind of spells?” he spoke up, narrowing his eyes when he only got a shrug from the boy. Of course, Miss Granger decided to step in - she probably had been eager to join the conversation for some time now, as usual.

“We tried basic spells.” _What?_ “Levitation, some beginner’s Transfiguration. His form and pronunciation is spot-on, but the spells… they won’t work properly.”

“Basic spells?” Severus pushed, not quite believing his ears. The boy had problems with the _basics_? He’d obviously lacked any magical education after being abducted, but even a late start shouldn’t cause a lack of _magic itself._ Maybe a Squib...? But no, OIlivander clearly sold him a wand, Snape had seen the sparks through the dusty shop window. “Demonstrate,” he then demanded - neither of his parents had been anything but gifted, not even that blasted James Potter, so what was the problem?

As it turned out, Miss Granger hadn’t been lying - with another shrug, Potter swished and flicked his wand without any obvious error. His pronunciation was clear and strong (the persistent echo of his voice non-existent during the faux-latin incantation). All in all, it seemed like a perfectly executed spell.

But the ball that the Headmaster had conjured for the testing didn’t float gently into the air, no. With great velocity, it was hurtled upwards and slammed against the ceiling with such force that the wooden beam it hit audibly creaked.

When Potter released the spell, it took the ball a few moments until gravity unstuck it from the dent it had created.

“Oh my,” Albus said and for once he looked as baffled as Severus felt.

~~~

Half an hour and a number of beginner spells later, Severus Snape admitted defeat. With a snarl, he banished the burnt and misshapen matches, glaring at the unconcerned boy. Potter was twirling his wand as if he had no care in the world, his green eyes fixed on the Potions Professor for a few moments longer before he turned away.

Severus wanted to strangle him. Just a little bit. Surely that shouldn’t be too bad, right? Not after a slew of botched demonstrations, some of which quite literally exploded in their faces.

This had to be some inane _prank!_ Nobody, not even Longbottom in his very first week in Hogwarts, had been so abysmally _atrocious_ over such a broad spectrum. _Everything_ Potter attempted with his wand went wrong, wrong, _wrong,_ and Severus refused to believe that it wasn’t by some nefarious design.

And then there was the Kneazle kitten who’d taken to Albus rather lovingly and wouldn’t stop _hissing_ at him. If it wasn’t trying to claw at his boots or destroy the hem of his robes.

“Get away from me, beast,” he hissed at the thing, who hissed right back at him. Naturally, the Headmaster gave Severus an admonishing look where Potter long since ignored Severus’ attempts to save his wardrobe.

Black laughed and Severus wished he could simply hex everyone and return to his dungeons.

“Show him your wandless stuff, Harry,” the mutt said, bringing Severus’ thoughts to a halt. Looking up again, the Potions Master stared at Black, then at Potter.

The Headmaster was doing the same, with a slow blink and sudden interest in his eyes. “Wandless magic?”

After which Potter proceeded to demonstrate _his ability to do a selection of wandless magic without any problems._

“It is simply _not possible_ for you to be this - this _incompetent_ with your wand!” he finally shouted after a swift, if unusual transfiguration of one of the chairs.

“Oh, shut it, Sni- Snape,” Black said with an unbearably smug expression on his face. It changed into something much sharper then, grey eyes glinting. “Or are you calling him a liar?”

“Either that or an idiot, mutt,” Severus replied, not sorry at all to make use of the sharp side of his tongue. “It doesn’t surprise me that you wouldn’t know a thing about wandless magic and the sheer control and in-depth knowledge one has to have before even attempting such a feat! And yet Potter seems to lack both with the very basic spell set he just demonstrated he can do wandless!”

“So what, you think he’s botching those spells _on purpose?_ Have you seen him try?” Black was glowering now, his face set into an angry grimace. “The fuck do you even botch something when you have the incantation and movement down to the last detail?”

“Gentlemen!” Albus’ booming voice brought their little shouting match to a sudden halt. When Severus turned around, he saw his old mentor looking very displeased.

Potter, on the other hand, had a curious tilt to his head, his gaze switching from Severus to the mutt and back without any hint of anger or annoyance. When Severus caught his eyes, he even grinned, almost causing the Potions Master to shout yet again.

“My argument still stands, Headmaster,” Severus said testily and without another glance at the mutt. “Him performing wandless magic contradicts his inability to perform the most simple spells any _child_ can learn.”

“That may be true if Mr Potter was actually casting wandlessly,” Albus said, which caught all their attention. “But I think this might not be the case at all. Mr Potter, can I ask you again to levitate something?”

“Sure,” the boy said and with a small twitch of his fingers, the Kneazle kitten was pulled towards him and thankfully away from Severus’ boots. The Potions Professor glared at the beast who immediately started purring in Potter’s arms. “What exactly am I doing, then? It’s definitely magic and I don’t use a wand.”

Severus wanted to know as well, and he could almost _feel_ the anxiety and curiosity of Miss Granger and Black. They were all looking at the old Headmaster now, who accepted the kitten with a smile after Potter dropped her on the desk yet _again._

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, Mr Potter,” he said and scratched the beast’s chin. The purring had yet to stop. “But there is a difference between actual wandless magic - that is, to perform _spells_ without the help of a wand as our focus - and performing simple magic without a tool.”

A gasp followed. “Professor, do you mean - surely Harry’s not doing _accidental magic_ the whole time?”

“Oh, but that is precisely what I mean, Miss Granger!” Albus was beaming now and nodded towards the young woman. “And it wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened. It is rare indeed for a child to grow up without a magical education as Mr Potter did, and sadly most of those never learn to handle their innate power. But sometimes they do. Mr Potter, can you tell us how you managed?”

“Mostly through trial and error,” Potter said with a slight frown on his face. “And not quite on my own. Someone… figured out that I’d make things happen under stress. So I was put under stress repeatedly, to trigger something. And then I’d do it again, and again, until I managed to repeat the magic in normal situations.”

Something about the way he said this sounded very, _very_ wrong. Severus, who’d seen many people at their worst, had a nasty suspicion that the whole process hadn’t been Potter’s idea. Hopefully, Albus would be able to get the entire story out of the boy - from the moment he’d been kidnapped, to the moment he’d come back to Earth.

Back to Earth - the fact that Severus had to think sentences like that made his headache only grow worse.

Albus, too, had picked up the underlying message, his expression turning sad for just a moment before he sighed. “Do you still feel stressed when performing magic?” he asked and Harry simply nodded.

“It’s easier, that way. And it’s a smooth process. Takes a lot of time to get it right, though. Your way is much neater, from what I’m told.” Potter looked rather wistful saying that. “I’m speaking of weeks, sometimes months of trying to get it right. It’s no fun when pain is the trigger. At least anger I can manage easily.”

“Harry-” Black started but was swiftly interrupted by the boy himself.

“Eh, it’s okay. ‘Sides, if this can be fixed then I don’t have to do it anymore, right?”

 _“Can_ it be fixed?” Severus cut in - imagining Lily’s son performing any kind of self-harm had his stomach churning.

“It will take some time - right now, Mr Potter is pushing far too much power through every spell. Like a faucet that’s turned all the way open.” Albus smiled, though - it shouldn’t be too bad a situation. “Or rather, a large cauldron of water that is thrown whole at a candle flame instead of using just the few drops you’d need. Now, Mr Potter - would you be interested in learning how to control that power of yours?”

“I’m in,” the boy said with a smile that looked entirely too sharp on his face. “Depending on what you want in exchange.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 4793
> 
> One full chapter in Hogwarts - I hope you liked it! Next time we'll see how negotiations turn out. I also haven't forgotten that it was Harry's birthday!


	13. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't No Rest For The Wicked - Cage The Elephant
> 
> Here comes another one! A great many thanks to the usual suspects **EssayOfThoughts** and **cb3** who've been working hard to make everything readable for you.  
> At the bottom of the chapter, you'll find a little omake written by none other than cb3!

**August 1st, 2015**  
Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts

Harry stared at Fawkes, the phoenix.

The phoenix stared back for a long while before dipping its head down to take the cookie from Harry’s hand. It wasn’t a great loss - the whole Headmaster’s desk was currently _littered_ with them. Harry preened a bit when the bird dipped back again to get to the crumbs.

“Sherbert Lemon, Mr Potter?” the owner of the desk (and the cookies) asked him, and after a glance at the little lemon candies, Harry decided that yes, he’d like one.

“You can call me Harry, you know,” he said and popped the candy into his mouth. It was sweet and tangy, and when he bit into it, the sugary casing cracked open. Stuff came out that fizzed in his mouth and he had to swallow his spit before continuing. “Mr Potter sounds weird.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said with apparent delight.

Reaching out for his dainty little teacup to wash away the strange treat, he eyed the small offerings of confections and cake cubes that some servant had brought just a few minutes before. A house-elf, or whatever. Funny little creature, apparently an excellent baker, too.

Next to him, the Snape guy snorted into his own cup. It was a perfectly derisive little sound that conveyed in odd detail how much the man disliked Harry - his presence in general and his words specifically. Harry suspected either his late parents or his godfather to be the culprit for the animosity the man had for him.

Probably Sirius’ fault - the little display before spoke of some history and a lot of bad blood between the two men. Having both sit around the pretty desk, drinking tea and eating sweets, was an _experience._ They were practically dying to start some shit, and Dumbledore had to step in occasionally to avoid another shouting match.

Taking one of the cake cubes - Petit Fours, Hermione’d called them - Harry wondered if he should ask about Dumbledore’s conditions again. The man was smart, scarily so - definitely smarter than Harry, at least in handling people. He could also without doubt help with Harry’s magical problems, something the mage wanted for sure. His magic was swift and familiar, but also limited to a few things; compared to what Hermione, Ginny, or any other Terran mage he’d seen could do, it was pathetically restricted. Dumbledore as his ally would make it far easier to gain some skill with his wand.

But the old man played coy with him. Instead of talking clearly, he’d called for ‘tea time’. And it wasn’t bad, not really - the aromatic brew had a nice smell and taste to it, and the sweets were delicious as well. Not as good as the cake Tony’d brought out yesterday (as a surprise for Harry’s day of birth; he’d known of that Terran tradition through Peter, but had never thought to get his very own party), but still rich and sweet in a foreign way.

He’d probably kill for the chocolate alone. Really, Terra could get so _rich_ with exporting cocoa beans, no kidding.

It was almost enough to distract him from Dumbledore’s sneaky attempt to make him comfortable. The Headmaster might even try to give him a little sugar rush.

“So, when’s a good time to talk about payment?” he said because he could and because he wanted to see how far the old man would go to delay the topic. “Now? After this tea thing? I’d rather do it today. Just the two of us, if that’s possible.”

It was easy to ignore Hermione’s questioning looks and Sirius’ warning expression - he wasn’t stupid and didn’t need a chaperone to discuss terms. Sure, they might already know what Dumbledore wanted from him, but that didn’t mean they all needed to hear what Harry’s stipulations were.

“I wonder, what makes you think I might want something in return, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, far too calm and with a look in his eyes Harry had no problem identifying - calculating and a tad mischievous, not at all perturbed by Harry’s direct questioning. The mage found himself smiling at the Headmaster. Dumbledore was likeable, with a deft hand for Azha and good at wrangling people.

“Everyone wants something,” Harry replied, eyeing another of the small chocolate cakes. “And you wanted me here in the first place, yes? So you’ve got your eye on one thing or another. Same as me - I kinda need your help. So, we make a deal and everyone’s happy.”

“Are you sure, Harry?” Hermione asked. “About doing this alone, I mean. Sirius or I can stay here, just to be certain-”

“I’m pretty sure, yeah.” He eased his interruption with a genuine smile - both to assure her that he didn’t mean this as some kind of revenge for her previous secrecy and to show her that he wasn’t angry. She’d been a great help, after all, and he intended to keep her friendship as long as he was on Terra. “Might even tell you all about it when we go back. Don’t know yet, depends on what he’s gonna say.”

They didn’t look too happy about this. Maybe they didn’t trust the Headmaster themselves, not fully. Or they did, but they were still worried for him. Or, worst case, he’d been wrong about Hermione and Sirius (and Ginny and their friends and Mrs Black) and they just wanted to listen in. Who fucking knew? He liked to think they were simply worried. Like with many things, time would tell eventually.

Dumbledore gave a soft chuckle. “I see that I won’t be able to delay any further. Well then, let us speak.” With a wave of his wand, most of the tea set and confections vanished into thin air - only two cups full of tea and a small plate of biscuits remained on the desk. “Sirius, Miss Granger, it was a delight to see you. Please come to visit again soon. Severus, if you would show them out - I will call when we are done.”

“If you are sure, Headmaster,” Snape said with an impressive glower and stood up, his black robes snapping around his ankles as he stalked towards the door.

“We’ll wait outside, then,” Sirius finally said with a great sigh. For a moment, his hand rested on Harry’s shoulder, which reminded him a bit of Krags. It softened Harry’s smile. “Don’t take too long, we have guests tonight.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said and watched them go. Only after the door closed behind the three did he turn around to meet Dumbledore’s sky-blue eyes.

~~~

Albus watched young Harry carefully, his own emotions and thoughts hard to sort through. He’d envisioned a few different scenarios of meeting the young man, but none of them had come close to today. To find a neatly penned letter from Narcissa Black, of all people, on his desk had been quite the surprise. Later, it was joined by an equally polite message from Miss Granger, who’d been quite successful in adding her thinly veiled threat. It was evident that she felt some measure of responsibility for Harry.

Not that the young man needed much protection - during the day, Albus had come to the conclusion that James and Lily Potter’s son was confident, and not without cause. He couldn’t point to exactly where this kind of self-assuredness came from, but it was there and it wouldn’t do to dismiss it. And now that they were alone in Albus’ office, it only reinforced the impression of independence that surrounded Harry’s calm gaze.

The most unsettling thing, however, was the fact that Albus couldn’t gauge him. He took pride in his skill in Legilimency, and while he wouldn’t use it without great cause, it was almost inevitable for Albus to get some sort of… reading on people he met. Nothing more than a light brush whenever eyes meet, which took no effort and was, in fact, very hard to suppress for the Headmaster.

Yet, whenever he met young Harry’s bottle-green eyes, nothing would come forward. He’d have to talk to Severus about this, knowing that his Potions Master had great skill in Legilimency as well. Albus wouldn’t use his full ability and he would make sure that Severus wouldn’t try, himself - but it was something to investigate. Whatever method Harry was using to shield his mind from him was bound to be interesting and it had Albus curious indeed.

“Now, Harry, what exactly do you have in mind?”

Albus watched the smile stretch on Harry’s lips. The boy looked quite like his parents - favouring James a bit more than Lily, but all in all a good mix of both. The lack of glasses and the short-cut hair brought out his mother’s influence rather nicely, despite the fine, silvery lines that could easily distract from the impression. What those were, Albus didn’t know - they reached from the outward corners of Harry’s eyes and traced the sides of his face before vanishing either in his hair, behind the ears, or underneath the collar of his shirt.

More lines, straight and angular, descended down his left arm where it was bare, cutting through the lightly tanned skin right down to his strong left hand. Together with the utilitarian cut and make of his clothes and the Muggle-looking items strapped to his belt and trousers, Harry looked decidedly foreign in Albus’ office. There were so many questions he had in mind. Maybe some of them could be answered today.

“How ‘bout we bring what we have to the table?” the young man said, relaxing in his chair. His eyes were still pinning Albus’, attentive and intelligent and with a faint hint of _wrong_ in them. Just as his voice, which had a curious, almost unnoticeable echo in it. It reminded Albus of a translation spell. “I want training and some info about, well. Me, I guess? What can I expect while being here? What can I _do?_ I’m here for a while - I want to make use of it.”

It was expected of him to try and gain knowledge, and Albus didn’t begrudge him that, even if the wording was quite peculiar. What he can do, indeed. Even after more than a decade of absence, Harry Potter was a name that could influence and change many things. “Those are things I can certainly offer,” Albus replied evenly. A nudge against his hands drew his eyes down where Harry’s kneazle, little Azha, demanded her share of attention. “An exchange of information, then - I find myself very curious about a few things.”

“Nothing more?” Harry sounded surprised and - yes, a bit wary. Albus suppressed his smile this time, focussing instead on petting the kitten. “You’re sure?”

“Oh, there is always more, Harry. But there might be questions on both sides that ought to be answered first before I make any more demands.”

The wariness swiftly left the young man’s expression and was replaced by a charming grin. “All right. You can start.”

“If it isn’t too much to ask, I would like to know what happened to you twelve years ago - and how you managed to come back.”

Harry nodded, brisk and short, the grin softening into something more serious. Then, with an exhale, he leaned back even further, clearly enjoying the comfort of Albus’ guest chairs. “You know I was kidnapped, right? Well, it’s all a bit hazy, but those guys were slave traders. Terra - Earth, whatever - it’s a bit of a struggle to get here. Lies smack in the middle of some bigshot’s territory and there are some rules with pre-contact civilisations. So, it’s not uncommon for some scum to go around snatching kids. With Terra, it’s real hard, but they managed and later got raided for their trouble. Still ended up somewhere you really don’t want to know. Then I met the Ravagers and worked for them. My brother - that’s Peter, he’s Terran too - got himself into trouble. See, back then I didn’t know I was from here. Anyway, we figured he’d get better once he visited this place.” He stopped for a moment, lips moving as if to test out his words. It wasn’t hard to see that he left out some things, not that Albus would call him out for that. “So we landed here a few weeks ago,” he finally ended abruptly.

“Very visibly, as well. There was much excitement about your group of friends joining forces with the ‘Avengers’,” Albus added - with a bit of luck, Harry would accept his little white lie and not ask further how Albus came to know of his presence. It also helped to gloss over his own unpleasant surprise he felt. To think that Harry had to endure all this. Slave traders, of all things!

“Yeah.” A slightly pained expression crossed Harry’s face, but it smoothed out after just a moment. “But that’s the gist of it. You mentioned some other work you got, ‘sides being Headmaster. What’s that about?”

“Ah, yes. I have a number of responsibilities tied to my positions not only as Headmaster, but also as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.” Neither of those names seemed to tell Harry anything, judging from his small frown, so Albus quickly explained both positions, as well as what a Wizengamot and the ICW was. “Most Muggle governments have certain liaisons with their magical equivalent. The closeness of relations depends on the country, of course, but news of your arrival was forwarded to each member of the ICW, and thus to each magical government as well, which was how I came to know of your presence.”

“Just from my appearance?”

“Mostly from your scar, which is as famous as your name here in Britain. But not only that - you look very much like your parents, Harry. I’m sure Sirius showed you pictures of James and Lily and might even have told you, but your eyes look just the same as your mother’s.”

The reaction Albus got was far from what he’d expected. There was neither a smile nor sadness on the boy’s face, but a slight grimace at the mention of his parents, worsened yet when Albus commented on his eyes. Harry shook his head before huffing out his breath. “Fuck.”

“Language, Harry,” the Headmaster admonished softly, but he was either unheard or ignored. Taking a deep breath himself, Albus let it go and continued. “What about these… Ravagers, then?” he prompted. It would do no good to ask about the slave traders, or whatever Harry had experienced at their hands. No, better wait until he’d earned some trust with the boy, or let someone else handle this.

It was of no use to get angry over people he was unlikely to ever meet.

This time, Albus’ question managed to return Harry’s smile - with it, he very much looked his age. “They took me in when I was in trouble,” he said freely, eyes crinkling with fondness. “Mind you, most of them are dead by now after the mutiny, but my favourites - that’s the captain, Yondu, and his first mate, Kraglin - are still alive. Peter’s not a Ravager anymore, he found his own home. You saw the news, yeah? He’s the big guy with sandy hair and the red jacket.”

Mutiny? Most of them were dead? Captain? It sounded like a pirate’s tale, more or less, and still left many things out. “I’m sorry,” Albus said and let his own confusion shine through, just a bit. “But I don’t quite understand. What exactly _are_ the Ravagers?”

“Mercenaries.” The ease with which Harry said this was deeply unsettling. And this time, his smile wasn’t boyish, but sharp again - he knew exactly how Albus would take this and wasn’t ashamed of it. No, there was a certain pride to it, especially when Harry pointed to a sigil affixed onto his belt, a simple, orange-red flame stitched onto the leather. “We’re mercs, Headmaster. And before that fucker Taserface’s mutiny, we were up there with the _best.”_

~~~

By the time almost an hour had passed, Severus had half a mind to simply re-enter the Headmaster’s office, still silently fuming that he’d been thrown out the same as Black and Miss Granger. Luckily, the witch was sensible enough to pull the mutt away from him for a whispered talk as they waited.

Before he could make up his mind, however, the gargoyle jumped to the side to allow Potter to come through. There was some satisfaction on his face as he eyed Severus at first, then Black and Miss Granger. “He wants to see you,” Potter said to Severus, flashing him a smile the same moment his kneazle beast hissed from its perch upon the boy’s shoulder.

“Does he now,” Severus said through gritted teeth. His headache had not lessened during the wait and right now, he couldn’t see much of Lily in the young man, which shortened his patience with him drastically. “I trust you can find the way out?” he added towards Miss Granger. Naturally, Black bristled as he was ignored, which at least gave Severus a bit of pleasure. Smirking, he turned around and walked past Potter, who quickly joined his friends.

“Hermione, do you know where I can find old newspapers...?” The words cut off sharply as he stepped onto the rotating stairs; the gargoyle had resumed his position. Surprisingly, Albus didn’t call for him before he reached the still-open door.

“Albus?” Severus inquired, quickly taking notice of the way the Headmaster sat slumped at his desk. A complicated emotion was edged onto the old, wrinkled face, one he didn’t like one bit. “What happened?”

“Better sit down, Severus my boy,” Albus sighed. “I fear we have much to talk about.”

~~~

**August 1st, 2015**  
The Quadrant

Wrangling Groot into his seat was a rather thankless affair, Gamora thought. The little _Flora colossus_ was growing slowly, but he was still strong when he wanted to be. Meals weren’t always enough to tempt him to obey, so the incoming call was a pleasant surprise.

“I’ll take it,” Gamora said before anyone else could. “Peter, you deal with Groot.”

Ignoring the groan of the man, she swiftly got up and went to the nearest display. The moment she saw the face on it, she felt a smile blooming. “Harry!”

Her exclamation caused some scrambling behind her and she knew that Peter had abandoned Groot to greet his brother. Harry looked well, she thought - the dark smudges under his eyes had faded somewhat and the long exposure to a natural sun had given him a bit of a tan.

“Sister,” he greeted, his green eyes crinkling with his own smile. “Peter. You okay?”

“Sure,” Peter replied immediately, grinning like a loon. He’d missed Harry, just like she’d missed her little brother. “Yondu’s driving me kinda crazy, but what’s new? Anyway, we managed to land a job - some protection stuff. How ‘bout you?”

They both leaned closer, eager to hear any news. Leaving Harry behind had been a hard choice for them, so soon after Azalel’s death. But Harry looked good - almost happy. Somewhere in the background people were talking, their voices muffled. The Avengers?

“Everything’s fine. I got myself some good tutors and all. Just wanted to give you some info.”

Gamora nodded - keeping up with each other was no bad idea. With their current distance, it’d take a few days for them to make it back to Terra, so any news in-between would do them good, especially Peter, who was worrying a lot. “They’re treating you well, then?”

“Nobody giving you any trouble? We can come back, if you need-” Peter chimed in, but Harry cut him off.

“No problems at all, Pete. Just some interesting stuff happening. Look - I just came back from a meeting with a guy named Albus Dumbledore. He’s a bigshot, influential, you know what I mean.”

Peter scowled next to her. “Rich?”

“Political. He’s the Headmaster of the magical school in Britain and holds some other ranks as well. We struck a deal.”

“What kind?” Gamora asked before Peter could so much as open his mouth. She loved him, she really did, but she also knew him very well and didn’t want him to say anything stupid about politicians and his lack of trust. Harry hadn’t gone through all the training, but he’d been in the Temple long enough to have covered the basics. Even years with people like the Ravagers wouldn’t spoil the kind of lessons the Other gave the children. Gamora knew that Harry would be careful - even _Nebula_ could talk her way through politics well enough not to upset people if she was in the right mood.

“Eh, quite mutual. I get trained and can make use of his network, and he can make use of my awesome fame and I’ll help him with some stuff.” A smug grin spread on Harry’s face.

“Fame?” Peter snorted and then laughed. “That scar stuff again?”

“Yep. Everyone I meet tells me how I’m this ‘saviour’ of their society. Remember the book I showed you? It’s a really big deal. According to Dumbledore, some of those terrorists are still at large.”

The light mood took a sharp turn for the worst and Gamora felt worry bloom inside her. “Terrorists?” she asked, eyes widening just a fraction. Her voice became crisp and serious, her muscles tensing. “ _Harry.”_

“We’re coming back,” Peter hissed.

“No, you’re not.” Harry was frowning now. Gamora was of a mind to simply ignore him. “Listen, I can handle it. For now, they ain’t a problem. If that changes, I’ll give you a call, but you won’t drop a job just because some idiots are trying to kill me. That’s literally my _job,_ for fuck’s sake.”

He wasn’t wrong - they risked their lives far too often for comfort. And Harry _was_ a Ravager, a mercenary. Still, Gamora couldn’t help but hold onto her worry. Exchanging a look with Peter, she knew he shared her opinion, but Harry had a stubborn tilt to his head, his jaw tense and eyes narrowed.

“You’ll call us the moment something happens,” she said and maybe her voice was a bit harsher than necessary. Harry’s eyes widened a bit and then he smiled in a way that softened his whole face.

“I’m no idiot, Gamora. Of course, I’ll call,” he said, glancing at Peter who didn’t fail to bristle in mock offence. The smile grew to a cheeky grin. “I gotta go now. According to Sirius, I had my birthday yesterday and there’s _cake.”_

Whatever cake was, it seemed to be something good, what with the way Peter gasped. “Cake!” he exclaimed, but Harry only laughed and cut off the call, causing Peter to cuss out a storm.

Behind them, something fell to the ground with a loud bang and Gamora winced, having forgotten about Groot. “Come on, Peter,” she said and pulled the idiot away from the darkened display. When she saw his face, she elbowed him lightly. “Stop pouting, he’s doing fine.”

~~~

**August 1st, 2015**  
Grimmauld Place, London

Remus stepped out of the fireplace and was greeted by a grinning Sirius. Distant whooping noises drifted in from an open window in the parlor - the teens were in the back garden, then.

“Moony!” Strong arms pulled him close. Remus returned the hug for a moment before wriggling free.

“I’ve just been by a couple of days ago, Sirius! No need to strangle me.”

His friend pouted, but there was a shine to his grey eyes that wasn’t so easy to snuff out these days. Remus knew who’d put it there and was hopeful to finally meet the young man in person.

“Hey, it’s your first time meeting Harry. It’s a special occasion! You got your gifts with you? And is Tonks not coming?”

Shaking his head, the werewolf moved away from the fireplace and banished the soot from his clothes with a quick snap of his wand. “She’s still afraid he’ll know it was her,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “And Albus doesn’t want that. How was it, by the way?”

“The meeting?” Sirius sniffed and walked him out of the parlor and down the stairs, steps bouncing lightly. “Good enough, I guess. Snivellus was there, but thankfully he didn’t talk too much. Albus and Harry had some private talk at the end,” he added and made a face that had Remus laughing.

“And neither told you what it was about, yes?”

“It’s maddening! But come, hurry up! They’re outside. I gave Harry and Neville brooms for their birthdays and they’re outside to test them out.”

“You gave _Neville Longbottom_ a _broom?”_ Remus exclaimed, shaking his head. “That wasn’t very thoughtful of you, Padfoot.”

“I also gave him some books from the library! Draco helped me choose them. But books are boring. Everyone ought to have a broom.”

“As long as it’s not a racing broom - the boy I remember hardly enjoys flying.”

The discussion was cut short when they stepped out of the house and into the back garden. It was a handsome strip of land, decent in size and pretty to look at after the extensive renovations Mrs Black had done to Grimmauld Place. The whole thing was surrounded by a tall brick wall and was as heavily warded as the house itself to protect it from prying eyes and outside harm. Right outside the door, polished sandstone formed a generous patio, looking over a stretch of vibrant green lawn framed by roses and oleander. In the back, a little greenhouse gleamed in the afternoon sun, housing mostly common magical herbs and plants.

On the lawn, a group of young men and women circled an assortment of brooms - each polished to a shine. Remus knew most of them personally, as he’d taught them defense. Later, he’d seen them occasionally when visiting Sirius. Two women sat on the patio on comfy wooden lawn chairs, drinking sparkling wine from tall glasses: Mrs Black and the older Augusta Longbottom, who was the first to look up and fix both men with sharp eyes.

“Mr Lupin,” she greeted him archly and pursed her lips. Remus smiled despite her attitude - most people who knew him as a werewolf reacted a lot worse than the old Madam. “I shouldn’t be surprised, given who else is here.”

“Which is still a secret, Augusta,” Mrs Black said with her soft voice. The women exchanged knowing looks and Madam Longbottom waved it off with a huff.

“For now. Merlin knows it’s only a matter of time for those vultures from the Prophet to get their claws on _this_ story.” She sniffed and took a sip from her glass, eyes again on the gaggle of teens. “A strange boy, but not unpleasant. Imagine what one like Rita Skeeter would make of him.”

“Nothing pleasant, I say,” Mrs Black agreed. “Now go and introduce Mr Lupin to your godson, Sirius. I would like to speak with you afterwards.”

Sirius rolled his eyes but marched on, pulling Remus with him. “You heard her. And don’t be shy, there’s no reason for it.”

That earned the man an unbelieving stare from Remus. “You were a _wreck_ , Sirius,” he hissed, lowering his voice so it wouldn’t travel the shrinking distance between them and the teens.

“And you’re supposed to be the adult one,” Sirius replied. “Harry! Come here, I’ve got something for you!”

Following Sirius’ call, one of the youths turned around, a look of exasperation changing into curiosity as amber eyes met green ones amidst the loud greeting of his former students.

“And what would I do with him?” Harry asked, bemused. And blinked somewhat rapidly when Remus decided that thrusting his present at the young man was the best decision to make.

“I’m Remus Lupin,” he said, very aware of most eyes upon him. How odd to feel so nervous again, after years of finding peace within himself. Watching Harry fiddle with the small, wrapped parcel, he swallowed and tried a smile that felt a bit tight on his face. “Oh, this is weird, but - I knew your parents. Especially James, your father, back in school.”

That gained many exclamations from the other teens. Draco Malfoy seemed unsurprised and even a bit smug, while Ron and Ginny Weasley immediately shot out some questions. Sirius was laughing at the reactions, one hand on Remus’ shoulder. “You should’ve known,” the man was telling them, but Remus was barely listening, eyes fixed on Harry, who was-

He was grimacing slightly, hands gripping the parcel, eyes troubled. “I see,” the young man said and now his gaze switched from Remus to Sirius and back again. His somewhat distant tone finally caught Sirius’ attention and an awkward silence descended on the group. “That’s… good, I guess? Thanks for the gift,” Harry finally added.

“Relax, mate,” Ron Weasley said from behind him and stepped forward to nudge Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Professor Lupin’s a nice one.”

“Maybe he’s heard about-” someone murmured, but was quickly silenced with an elbow to the side.

It had been some time since Remus had last felt ashamed of his condition. Granted, most of his childhood and early adulthood, shame and silent anger at his fate and the reactions of others had nearly crippled him. After James and Lily had died and Sirius brought to Azkaban, fleeing Britain and the stifling prejudice had been his last option but one; now, even thinking of those dark times had him shying away from the memories, glad that he’d managed to leave the isles for the continent and later for the world.

But looking at the son of one of his best friends, a virtual stranger to him, and seeing a wariness that he’d never seen on James’ face - it felt like a punch to the gut.

“Maybe I should go,” he said stiffly, careful to hide the hurt of it. Sirius’ hand on his shoulder strengthened its grip, his presence warm and reassuringly close behind.

It helped to ground him when the wariness on Harry’s face changed to bemusement, and then to curiosity - but not, Remus noticed, to regret or empathy. “Eh, no need,” the teen said with a careless shrug. “Just weird, to meet another of- of James’ friends.”

And there it was again, the slight grimace, the minute pause, the troubled look. This time, Remus was sure that Sirius, too, noticed it. And probably a good number of the kids as well. Hermione Granger, bless her, had a sudden thoughtful look on her.

“Is that a problem?” Remus asked carefully, not knowing what to feel besides mounting confusion at the whole exchange. What he’d envisioned as a few friendly words and later some comforting stories about Harry’s parents for the boy to enjoy had drastically changed with just a sentence. Sure, he did feel relieved that his condition wasn’t the cause for that odd reaction, but mentioning James shouldn’t be this kind of faux pas, surely?

“I- no. Not really.” They stared at each other for another few moments before Harry blinked and looked down at the carefully wrapped parcel. “I should open this,” he then announced, shaking off whatever had bothered him before, enough for an easy smile to brighten his face. “And then I’ll fly a fucking broom.”

It was some kind of dismissal - already, Harry turned around to face the group of teens who were still huddled close. The sudden change of pace had some of them still reeling, but mostly they looked as confused as Remus felt and quickly decided that the brooms should have more importance than awkward first meetings. The parcel was deftly opened and the book inside remarked upon - surprisingly, the topic of Beginner’s Defence gained high approval of Harry himself - but Remus and Sirius were now clear outsiders to the discussion.

“Huh,” was Sirius’ eloquent conclusion before he tugged Remus back to the patio. “That was odd.” His grey eyes betrayed his worry and Remus felt reassured that he wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Have you talked with him about, you know - James and Lily?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Or have you any idea why he’d react like that?”

“Hell if I know,” Sirius replied, shaking his head. “But maybe I ought to. Don’t worry,” he added with a slow smile. “He’ll be here often enough for him to warm up to you, you’ll see.”

~~~

**OMAKE**

Albus knew that he could no longer hesitate. He needed to ensure that the young man before him was aware of his destiny.

The Headmaster's face was grave as he began, "Harry, you were born under a prophecy that names you as our only hope to defeat a darkness that has lingered over our lives for many years. There is a man who has reigned terror over our community for far too long. We have fought him and his followers, but our plight has suffered far too many losses. Your parents were just some of the bright, young lives that were given in our attempt to make a better world for all. We have managed to thwart his schemes many times, yet he always prevails. But now you have returned to us and you have the power to save so many, Harry. Your name has long been a beacon of hope for our people. I am so happy that you are finally here, and I hope that we will be able to help you as you fulfil your fate and bring about happier times." A tear could be seen glistening in the old man's eye as he conveyed the desire of his people to the young wizard before him.

"Oh!" A light of understanding seemed to grow in Harry's eyes, and Albus was relieved to know that Harry seemed to understand the mantle of responsibility that the Headmaster unfortunately had to saddle him with.

Harry continued, "Right, right, hang on, it's here somewhere." Albus was slightly confused as the young man started patting his innumerable pockets, apparently looking for something. "Ah ha!" Harry pulled out a worn, folded sheet of paper that had obviously been heavily handled. "Here you go." The other wizard handed over the sheet with a grin.

Slightly thrown by the young man's smile, given the circumstances, the Headmaster took the piece of paper and unfolded it. His brows furrowed as he asked, "My apologies, but, what is this, Harry?"

"My price list. Sorry, I keep meaning to get that laminated, but it's not like plastic services can be found on every planet, y'know?"

The older man was no longer sure if he and his companion were having the same discussion. "I'm not quite certain that I understand, Harry. What do you mean by a 'price list'?"

Harry was still smiling as he gamely explained, "Well, you said you're looking to have someone killed, yeah?"

The Headmaster stuttered a bit at having the situation explained so brashly. "Well, that's...I suppose one might-"

Harry interrupted the older man to continue, "Right, and I'm a merc. I usually go in for theft, sometimes extortion, but I've done killings before."

The older wizard was dumbfounded at the turn of events. He watched Harry fold his hands behind his head and toss his feet upon the Headmaster's desk.

The younger man's grin turned a bit sharper as he continued, "So, let's talk price."

_This was written by the wonderful_ **cb3** _! It’s not quite what happened between Albus and Harry (information about the rest of their discussion will appear at a later time), but it was just too perfect to not include it in this chapter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 5448
> 
> Question of the Chapter: Imagine if Harry really had such a price list - what do _you_ think would be included and for what prices? ;)


	14. I Lost Something in the Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Lost Something in the Hills - Sibylle Baier
> 
> Thanks again to the wonderful **EssayOfThoughts** and **cb3**! It took me a long time to write this chapter. One of the scenes is written by Essay - can you guess which one?

**August 1st, 2015**  
Grimmauld Place

Harry knew flying. Even before purchasing his very own M-ship, designed to his liking, he’d flown a few other Ravager ships on some odd jobs whenever he was allowed to. The handling and navigation of a spaceship was a skill taught early in many places, and the Temple had been no exception. _His_ children were meant to be mobile, to be the hands and eyes and knives to his will. So, unlike the Chitauri and other grunt species, they’d learned how to fly when they weren’t learning to kill.

Other tools allowed flight as well. From small vehicles to strap-on jetpacks to Peter’s rocket boots he’d once stolen for a jaunt outside the Eclector, Harry had made use of this method of transport on the regular. If one travelled across galaxies, visiting new, exciting, and _dangerous_ places, being able to move in _all_ directions was almost mandatory. Not for too long - not when his magic could easily destroy these tools when he wasn’t careful enough. But for that edge in a fight or for the ease while exploring, he’d taken the risk.

Flying on a magic broom, however, hardly compared.

The wood felt remarkably flimsy between his legs and hands. It _should_ be uncomfortable at best, riding the thin handle while straddling it, but it wasn’t. A cushioning charm, Ron had explained, he and Ginny on both of Harry's sides to guide him through his first attempt.

Sirius’ gift had jumped into his hand quite eagerly when told to, the broom vibrating in his grip. Now, a few feet up in the air, it hadn’t stopped. That, too, was normal - the Firebolt was a professional Quidditch broom, one of the best on the market, which apparently meant that it was meant to be flown fast and thrillingly.

“How do you feel, Harry?” Ginny asked, her vibrant red hair pulled back into a plait. She grinned brightly, which was a good look on her, brown eyes alight. Her brother wore a similar expression and flew a quick loop around them.

“Like I’m gonna fall,” Harry replied. They were only a few feet off the ground. Somewhere above - but still hidden from prying eyes, as Mrs Black had told him - laughter rang loud. Draco Malfoy sat comfortably on his broom, coaxing a scowling Neville Longbottom to follow him. “But I kinda want to go faster.”

So they did and it was glorious. The broom did not break or fail underneath his weight. Secure between the two Weasleys, Harry leaned forward for a dive before skimming over the neat lawn. Sharp turns were practised and then they rose higher to meet up with the other two. Hermione had decided not to join them flying, watching from down below with Azha in her arms.

“I can’t believe you’ve never flown before,” Ron shouted, shaking his head.

“Not on a broom,” Harry replied gleefully. The handling was very intuitive, the Firebolt reacting to the slightest shift of his weight. It was hard to stay still in the air - he was wobbling around more than anything else. “How do they work? Tony bought a couple, but we didn’t get to try them yet. Do you need magic to fly them?”

“They’re enchanted.” Ginny ran a hand along the side of her broom. “But most of the spells are corporate secrets. You need to try and see if they work without your own magic - some do, some don’t.” 

“I still can’t _believe_ that we’re just accepting a breach of the Statute,” Malfoy muttered, but was quickly shushed by Ron.

“Reckon Mr Stark can keep a secret. And it’s the only way he can actually help us...”

Ah, that topic. Harry swiftly dived lower again, enjoying the feel of wind tugging at his clothes. Experience told him that Ron and Malfoy could go on for hours about this whole Statute thing. Worse yet was Ginny’s waffling over Tony and their collective plans to get rich. Magic was more alluring to him right now than technology, but he was pleased that the majority of his new acquaintances wanted to bond with his major allies on Terra.

It would make this whole schooling thing a lot easier.

Pulling himself up again, his boots brushing the grass, Harry grinned and shot back to the skies, thoughts of old family friends and his far-away, ragtag family firmly put aside for now. He was returning to the Compound in a couple of hours and he wanted to enjoy his new favorite pastime for every minute available.

~~~

**August 1st, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

“Don’t even talk to me,” Tony said loudly, one hand held up. Harry looked bemused but closed his mouth. “I’m hurt. Devastated. Traitor.”

Bruce snorted. “Really, Tony?”

Looking back and forth at the two, Harry shrugged and grabbed another slice of the cheese-laden flatbread. Pizza, he’d decided, was really good. Good enough to ignore Tony’s antics for now. Thank goodness he’d gone to the labs immediately after returning, catching Tony and Bruce feasting on the delivery. Sneaky.

“Brucey-bear, you don’t understand. We wanted to try out the brooms _together!”_ Tony waved a half-eaten crust at Harry, who eyed it for a moment before snatching it away. “Moocher. Shameless moocher.”

“I literally just told you it was a birthday present,” Harry finally replied and bit into the crust. The crunch was immensely satisfying, as well as the little bits of slightly-burned tomato sauce. Sweet and tangy and salty. “And I was told those are important and I should show my appreciation and make use of them.” He grinned at Tony’s scowl. Throwing his words back at the inventor was great fun.

“I still demand retribution,” Tony said in mock-offence. “Keep tomorrow free.”

“What for?”

“Your services. Friday’s finished with the files and Bruce and I need help looking them through.”

“I second that,” Bruce said quickly, swallowing a laugh. “Servitude sounds like a decent repayment.”

“You’re both horrible.” Harry kept his voice calm, but he couldn’t hide his grin - he’d waited for the files to be ready to read just as much as the two scientists. “How ‘bout I do that and you buy me lasagna?”

“You help us, I buy us lasagna and later you’ll show me how brooms work,” Tony shot back and grabbed the last slice of pizza. Jumping to his feet, he avoided Harry’s own attempt for it. “All you people want me for are my good looks and the food!”

“He’s caught on to us,” Bruce whispered rather loudly. “Quick, Harry, knock him out!”

“You’ll never get me!” With great dramatics, Tony moved away from them but got hit by a bunched-up napkin Harry threw. Watching the man slowly ‘die’ and sink to the floor was pretty funny.

~~~

**August 2nd, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

“Listen to this: _‘Therefore the only sound conclusion to the survival of Harry Potter must be a previously unknown potential of magic within the babe, magic strong enough to shield the boy from even the most potent dark magic as the Killing Curse. Thus we can assume that Harry Potter is, in fact, a potential candidate for the divine reincarnation of Merlin, who was rumoured to conduct research in that very matter.’_ For fuck’s sake, this Hermann Krauss is an idiot.”

Tony laughed at Harry’s face. “I like that better than the _Child Sacrifice_ one. Put it with the others.”

“We could just delete them,” Harry tried, his face still showing his disgust. Tony kept snickering.

“They really are obsessed with the idea of an infant super-wizard,” Bruce said with a frown. “There’s nothing about the adult Potters.”

“And nothing useful about this Voldemort guy,” Tony added. They’d been in the lab for almost an hour, going through the texts Friday had extracted for them. Anything that mentioned either the last two generations of Potters, Dark Lords and the war - a sizable collection, all in all. “Nothing about where he came from, nothing about a real name, nothing about a family…”

“Not even a body after being vanquished by baby Merlin, too,” Bruce added, making Tony chortle. “There’s some serious lack of information here.”

Harry grimaced a bit at Bruce’s words. “I know some from Dumbledore. Mostly about his followers that got free, because they might try and come for me.”

“Yeah, about that... how likely is that?” Tony asked. It was still weird for him to think of Harry as a famous person for anything other than coming from space. Tony had a lot of experience with being famous and the ill will that could come from that, but worshipping a guy for surviving something _as a baby_ was pretty creepy. “Someone did find you pretty quickly and I don’t want more of that on my property.”

“If you throw me out, I won’t let you touch my ship,” was the swift reply. Cheeky kid. “But I don’t know. He told me that some of those ‘Death Eaters’ tried to fuck up a tournament this summer. And a number of people who supported Voldemort’s politics are still around. So I gotta keep low when in Britain until he thinks it’s good for me to announce myself or some rot like that. I agreed for free lessons.”

“As long as you think you can trust him, go for it, but keep your eyes open. Oh, and try and get some more information about Voldemort out of him next time you two meet up.”

They continued their tedious work, making a list of theories, collecting information about that war, searching for anything about Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Tony's opinion on the Wizarding World sunk in the span of hours, too many holes in what should be recent history for his liking.

Not even Bruce mentioned when Tony started to work on another project as well, long familiar with the small attention span of the billionaire. Switching between the two came easily, although he would be lying if he said that sorting through spotty history was as thrilling as checking one of SI’s head engineer’s holographic systems. The former was frustrating, no matter that it dealt with _magic;_ the latter was fascinating, something he could work with. He would have to talk with Beck, pick his brain-

And then Harry made a curious noise, disrupting his workflow and thoughts. Tony looked up, eyebrows raised. The mage, wizard - whatever - had surrounded himself with open files and dictionaries, but only one of the glowing holo screens had his attention.

“What’s that, then?” Tony asked, a bit annoyed about the disruption. “Another theory about you being a wonder-baby?”

“Fuck off, Stark,” Harry said without much heat and flicked the document forward before enlarging the hologram. “Here’s a whole section about some other Dark Lord, I think Friday mixed that up.”

Bruce leaned forward to squint at the text. “Wait, I have some of those, too. Which one is it?”

“Some guy called Grindelwald. But I found a mention about Emeric the Evil, I’m not even kidding.”

_“Emeric the Evil?”_ Tony snorted and then laughed outright. “Bullshit! You’re making that up!”

“I’m not! Look, here it says: _‘The Dark Lord Emeric the Evil was a notoriously aggressive wizard who terrorised the South of England during the early Middle Ages, until he died prematurely in a duel with Egbert the Egregious. He is the first known wizard to have supposedly owned an abnormally powerful wand made of elder. This is likely to be history's first detailed reference to the Elder Wand. When Emeric was killed in the duel, Egbert took possession of the wand.’_ ¹

“That’s a lot of alliterations,” Bruce said through Tony’s snickering. “Here, put it all in this file. We might get a timeline going. Friday, can you help with that?”

“Of course, Dr Banner.”

Harry shrugged and started dropping his findings into the hastily-created file. “They sure love their wars and Dark Lords. Voldemort and Grindelwald are only forty-two years apart.”

Despite Tony having gone back to Quentin Beck’s very interesting device, his brain still caught that muttered remark. It made him stop for a moment before frowning. “That’s what, 1945?”

“The end of Grindelwald’s war was around that time,” Harry replied. His carefree tone shifted into alertness when he noticed Tony staring at him. “Is it relevant?”

“Depends. Where was it?”

“Pretty much central Europe and a few other places. He started his war efforts in Germany and spread from there- there’s a Muggle war mentioned, too, that happened at the same time.”

“The second World War,” Bruce supplied and adjusted his glasses with a nervous gesture. “Tony, maybe Steve wants to see this?”

“Gimme the file. Friday, filter for any mentions of Grindelwald. And,” Tony hesitated for a moment before marching on, “throw in Hydra, too. Just to make sure.”

“What’s Hydra?”

“A very bad organisation that started in the second World War under the Nazi regime,” Bruce said with a sigh. “They’re the same people that experimented on Wanda and Pietro, they gave them their powers. Steve and Natasha exposed them a while ago but if magic was involved, they should know about this.”

“I really don’t want them still hiding somewhere,” Tony added grimly. “Okay, we’re shifting focus now. I don’t think we’ll get any more info on Harry’s Voldemort, anyway. And call down Steve, would you, Friday?”

~~~

Steve didn’t quite know what he expected to find in Tony’s and Bruce’s _special_ lab. Since morning, the two scientists and Harry had hidden away in there with firm orders not to disrupt them until either some emergency came about or their ordered lasagna arrived. Now, with neither of the two scenarios in play, Friday had asked for his presence with some urgency, which was why Steve had run the entire way over.

What he found inside was a trio of men hunkering at the far end of the room. The lights were dimmed, but the bluish glow of holograms balanced it out. The hue didn’t help to make any of them look healthier - especially Tony and Harry liked to sport dark shadows underneath their eyes. Despite the unhealthy pallor, he could see no sign of injury and stepped further into the room before calling out a greeting.

“Er, hello?”

Bruce smiled at his awkward greeting and Harry gave him a little wave. Tony, however, jumped up. A too-wide smile stretched across his face, the one Steve knew meant that he was nervous about something. Like an undercurrent running underneath the engineer’s skin, it made every move a bit more erratic.

“Cap! That was fast, Friday said you were at the gym. How do you like the new parkour settings? Anyway, we found something, you might want to take a look. Maybe sit down first.”

Feeling more than just a bit confused, Steve frowned at Tony before coming closer, a bit slower than necessary. “How much coffee did you have?” he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Harry gave a loud snort at that and patted the chair next to him.

“Don’t mind him.”

But Steve couldn’t help the wariness settling in. His eyes fell on the glowing texts floating in the air - excerpts about battles and fights with magic. Those had to be from the many books Tony’d bought back in England. A date caught his eye, then a mention of Belgium. “What-”

“We were sorting through information about this Voldemort guy - the one that tried to kill Harry,” Tony said quickly. Steve could feel his eyes on him, could feel the slight tension in the air. “There was a war in Britain and all that. But some files got mixed up, we found out about this guy, Gellert Grindelwald. He was the head of a group called Alliance and he had a lot of followers and, well…”

“He was part of the war,” Steve finished for him, having read the short excerpt about the occupation of Belgium. He knew plenty of that time, of course - it wasn’t so much history for him, but simply his own past. This, however, was different. It told the story of a powerful wizard who waged his very own war during the Nazi regime.

“We’ve searched for any mentions of Hydra, but we've got nothing so far,” Bruce said solemnly. “Friday is doing a more advanced search right now, going through the file dump from the Insight incident. We thought you might want to know.”

Swallowing, Steve nodded. He didn’t like remembering last year. It had been close to hellish, the whole debacle. Not only for personal reasons - seeing Bucky like that, then losing him yet again, was bad enough. But to make the choice of releasing all that information, risking so many lives to save many others? He could feel phantoms of the stress he’d gone through; the throbbing memory of long-healed injuries; Natasha’s calm and determined face and the panic in her eyes when they made their decision; that constant nagging feeling at the back of his mind … he didn’t want to relive that. Most times, he actively avoided thinking about it.

And it wasn’t just him. Hydra always meant trouble. Even after the Triskelion, after purging SHIELD and the terrible consequences, the Avengers had gone after the remaining cells as best as they could do. Right now, the results of Hydra's lies and cruel experiments watched over Clint's kids - and it had taken a megalomaniacal omnicidal artificial intelligence to break through to them.

What could Hydra do with _magic_ on their hands? Not even Tony had known about the magical world before the Guardians, and with them Harry, had arrived on Earth. How many more cells could be hiding with the help of fanatic wizards and witches? It made Steve sick to the stomach.

“We’ll need to keep an eye on this,” he said after a few more moments of getting his act together. His hands were balled into tight fists, his jaw so tense it hurt. “All of us. Call Natasha, see if she can come back sooner.”

Tony nodded. “Should we try and ask our new magical friends about this?”

Again, Steve hesitated. Magic - Johann Schmidt would’ve loved that. Might’ve loved it, even. Not that he’d have seen eye to eye with anyone but himself, but Steve couldn’t count on anything when it came to that man, not even his arrogance. Schmidt had been fascinated with the gods and the supernatural; the Tesseract serving as a grim reminder.

He really didn’t want to bring any more attention to that hidden society. But there could be more information, lost to him but not to others.

In the end, he waited too long. “Not the girls, I think,” Harry said. “Definitely Dumbledore, seeing that he defeated Grindelwald and should know a bit more about the war.”

Steve did a double-take at that. “Dumbledore - that’s the Headmaster you’re getting lessons from, right? He was a soldier before?”

“No clue,” Harry replied cheerfully. “But he’s mentioned in almost all texts about the war. Actually, I think he was a teacher during the time, but he went to central Europe and fought Grindelwald.” The young man looked vaguely impressed and definitely curious.

“Would it be possible to meet with him?”

Harry shrugged. “I can always ask.”

Steve nodded and turned back to Tony and Bruce. “Thanks for telling me. Can you send me anything useful to read through? I’ll just- I need to hit things.”

“Don’t break my gym, Elsa,” Tony said, but he also patted Steve’s arm, so he probably wouldn’t be too angry if he did, indeed, break the gym. “We’ll figure this out. They might not have worked together at all.”

“I’m not taking chances here, Tony,” Steve said with a small smile. “See you later.”

A few laps to run off steam. Then a go at the new punching bags. Maybe that would get rid of the tension and that unsettling feeling of something forgotten.

_I’ll wait until Natasha is back,_ he thought as he left the lab. _And then we’ll go through that mission again, and through the leaked files._ Steve was sure that if Hydra ever knew about wizards and magic, he’d find it there.

~~~

**August 5th, 2015**  
Ministry of Magic, London

A rat scurried across the Ministry atrium. It went unnoticed by the Aurors standing watch and the elderly wizard in the wand-registration booth, passing from hard tiles to polished wood to the hard metal of the lift. It pressed no button - it was a rat - but waited instead. Eventually, the lift moved.

The first stop of the lift led to one set of slightly-scuffed boots leaving the small chamber. The second time the door opened, a new pair of boots entered before the lift re-opened to the atrium. It wasn’t until the fifteenth trip the lift made that it arrived at a rich, plushly-carpeted corridor and the rat finally moved. 

It kept to the corners, evading notice from the few people who walked the corridors, the single young man at a desk outside a well-polished door and even the darting memos high above. The rat didn’t wait for the door to swing open - with how thick the carpet was it pressed itself as flat as it could to the floor, snug between the tufts, and squeezed beneath the wooden barrier.

The office on the other side was blessedly empty and where moments before a rat had been, suddenly a small, squat man stood, wand twisting nervously in his fingers.

“Papers,” he said, rushing to the desk and leafing through documents. “Papers. Itineraries. There must be a meeting with Dumbledore, he’s always meeting with Dumbledore-”

The portraits on the walls did not wake. Without the Minister in the office they were silent, undisturbed. None of the spells meant to protect the office appeared to have been triggered - the door had not opened, spells left unbroken.

No one, it seemed, had expected a rat animagus to break in, not even after his exposure just a month ago.

Eventually the man lifted a piece of paper high with a triumphant _aha!_

“Yes, yes,” he muttered. _“Geminio._ All right.” With a brief flash of light another piece of paper appeared and the man snatched it up, stowing it as quickly as he could in a pocket. With another wave of his wand, the desk and it’s papers were set, approximately, to rights.

A second of hesitation. Then the man changed into a rat again - and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 3783
> 
> ¹ Almost verbatim quote from [a Wiki](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Emeric_the_Evil).
> 
> The last scene was written by **EssayOfThoughts**!


	15. Shapeshift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shapeshift - HORSE The Band
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. Life got stressful. It'll continue to be a bit stressful for the next couple of weeks, so there might be a delay for next chapter as well. Stay healthy and thanks to the wonderful EssayOfThoughts and cb3, both who did some quick editing to get the chapter out today!

**August 9th, 2015**  
Charms Classroom, Hogwarts

“Now, remember Mr Potter - don’t focus on your emotions, but on the spell itself! Concentrate on the intent of the magic, let the wand do the rest of the work. That’s what the incantation and the wand movements are there for!”

Harry took a deep breath, his wand held loosely. Eyes on the target, a feather of all things, he tried not to let instincts take over. _Don’t think about it, don’t think about it..._ he thought fervently, but the moment he raised his wand, he could feel the familiar stress build up.

Years of bad habits were hard to let go and Harry wasn’t surprised when the feather gave a violent quiver before bursting into purple flames a few inches above the table.

“Well done!”

Filius Flitwick, the resident Professor for Charms, gave him a thumbs-up. Harry liked him a great deal after only two sessions together, even when the little man insisted on calling him Mr Potter. It helped that Flitwick only exclaimed once about Harry at their first meeting.

“It’s really hard to _not_ do my thing,” Harry said as Flitwick moved to douse the small fire. “Reckon it’ll take some time before I get the hang of it.”

“That’s only natural,” Flitwick said without much concern. “Accidental magic is usually triggered by strong emotions. Stress and pain sadly are the most effective triggers, especially since they’re relatively easy to replicate. We have to work against that, so chin up, Mr Potter!”

Another feather was produced and after that many more. At times, Harry managed to make the feather fly for a few seconds. Mostly, however, his own efforts to _not_ be stressed backfired spectacularly. The poor table was thoroughly littered with burn marks at the end of their practice session and Harry felt wrung out, his hand clamped around his wand.

“Very good, Mr Potter. Very good indeed,” Flitwick said warmly after they’d taken a seat away from the battered table. “You have a good grasp on the concept of how to work around your habit. Now, all we need to do is to put you through your paces until it settles.”

The sudden appearance of a set of tea, complete with sandwiches, still had Harry look around for a moment before he remembered the House Elves. Odd little creatures, but useful, too. Taking one of the little sandwiches for himself, he said: “I just hope that I’ll still be able to do it my way.”

“That might become a problem.” Looking up, Harry saw Flitwick’s thoughtful expression. “Not impossible, but it’ll certainly make it harder to relearn your spellcasting process and maintain your ability to perform without a wand. You see, Mr Potter, those who learn their wandwork usually stop expressing any accidental magic.”

Harry swallowed his bite and frowned. “But why? Yeah, I see how a wand’s more versatile and all, but that’s just as long as you have one.”

“Are you worried about losing your wand, Mr Potter?”

That provoked a laugh out of him. “Yeah,” he said with a snicker. Flitwick looked a bit startled when Harry grinned at him. “Pretty much that. Or that it gets a beating. Wands are made of wood, right? That’s fragile. It can burn or be snapped in two without much force at all.”

“True that, although most wizards and witches won’t usually attempt to break a perfectly working wand,” Flitwick countered easily. He was still looking Harry over, bemused from his reaction. “And I hope you’re not as careless to risk your own wand.”

Harry shrugged. “Stuff happens. And there’s more people out there than mages. A wand’s a weapon, too, and that makes it a target.”

“Do you get into many fights, Mr Potter?” Flitwick asked with a shrewd expression. Harry gave him a toothy smile.

“Didn’t the Headmaster tell you?”

“I wouldn’t be asking had he done that.”

Harry took another bite of his sandwich. The bread was soft and fluffy, crust cut off and slathered with rich butter. The thin slices of cucumber were a refreshing contrast to the sharp taste of the cheese. Chewing, he took his time to consider the question and the possible answers he could give this man. Flitwick was a teacher, likeable and quick-witted. Not at all like the antagonistic Snape who wouldn’t tutor him in Potions until Harry could reliably cast spells with his wand.

How would a person like Flitwick react to his bluntness? _I steal, spy and kill people for a living,_ he wanted to say, just to see. Dumbledore’s reaction had been quite funny at first, although Harry did soften the blow a bit by calling himself a mercenary.

“A few,” he finally said, shaking his head a bit. “Nothing more than usual, I’d say.”

For a moment, Flitwick looked like he wanted to ask for clarification. Maybe he’d even get a truthful answer. But the moment came and went without any action, the Professor mulling over Harry’s non-answer with a thoughtful expression while sipping his tea.

“You can ask me things, you know,” Harry said after a while of relaxed silence between the two. “Might not answer a few times, mind you, but you can ask. I’m hard to offend.”

Flitwick smiled at that and inclined his head towards him. “I’m sure there is a reason why Albus didn’t tell me all that much about your reappearance, Mr Potter,” he started. Diplomatic, but Harry could see the curiosity in Flitwick’s keen eyes. They were kind but had a sharpness to them that reminded him of the Goblins in Gringotts. “All I was told is that you’ve returned from wherever it was you’d been taken from and that circumstances prevented you from obtaining magical education.”

“That’s pretty vague,” Harry said. “Not that he lied. I never got _properly_ trained.”

“He usually doesn’t, not if he can help it,” Flitwick agreed and set down his cup. “Why do you call us mages, Mr Potter? I know that different languages have different words to describe us, but as far as I know, every English speaking country uses witch and wizard. And you speak English.”

“Might be a cultural thing. Mages are _beings_ using magic. Witches and wizards are _humans_ using magic.”

Flitwick’s eyes shifted in their expression, sharper now as he leant forward. “And what does that mean?”

Harry’s smile grew into a grin - he really liked this little man. “That being human is a relatively new concept to me. Let’s leave it at that.” He really shouldn’t even say that much. Dumbledore had been insistent that Harry shouldn’t tell everyone he met about his past. He saw the reasoning behind that request - they were still trying to keep his presence a secret, after all. But he’d never been really good with rules.

And seeing the blatant curiosity in Flitwick’s eyes, Harry had a hard time keeping his mouth shut. Thankfully, the little Professor didn’t ask him to clarify, even after a few moments of contemplation.

“I won’t ask where you’ve been the past decade,” he started with a stiff little smile. “It’s quite obvious that it’s not to be discussed, what with the secrecy Albus favours around you. But you can, in a fashion, use magic. Has nobody ever tried to come forward and teach you?”

“Or arrest me? Not really. I had a couple of teachers, but none of them were mages themselves. Yo- _someone_ thought a sorcerer might do.” Harry winced at the memory. “Bad idea.”

“Sorcerer?” Flitwick asked immediately and Harry winced again. That was probably something he shouldn’t have said. Well, spilt milk and all.

“It’s like - magic, it comes from us, yes?” And from certain places, like Terra, but that Harry didn’t say. “There’s magical people and animals and plants. You can’t learn it, you gotta be born with it.”

Flitwick blinked once, then he leant even more forward, almost slipping from his raised seat. “Mr Potter,” he said with a serious kind of expression. “The way you word this makes me think that you are going to tell me there’s more than one kind of magic.”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Harry said quickly. “A different kind of power. Sorcerers use it, it’s a learned trade-”

He almost sighed with relief when someone knocked on the door of the classroom and wasn’t too prideful to simply jump off his chair, eager to avoid more questions on that matter. Maybe Terra had sorcerers, maybe not - Harry didn’t know. He’d already given too much away, delighted by Flitwick’s reactions. Any longer and he’d tell him everything, simply because why not? It wasn’t _dangerous_ knowledge, just… useful to keep in check.

“That must be the Headmaster,” he said and saw how Flitwick swallowed his questions. The little Professor took a deep breath and smiled sharply at him.

“Well, come on in, Albus,” he called before fixing Harry with a stare, eyes glinting. “We’ll speak again on Wednesday, Mr Potter.”

Harry replied with his own smile, thankful that Flitwick didn’t seem too angry at his blatant escape, and turned towards the opening door. “Goodbye, Professor!”

~~~

“Your lessons are going well, Harry?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

Albus chuckled. “The former. Filius is making me wait for a progress report; I fear that he took my request for secrecy a bit personal.”

“Headmaster,” Harry said with a crooked smile. “You’re not trying to _interrogate_ me, are you?”

It was surprisingly easy to like the boy, Albus noticed. Easy-going, with not a small amount of both charm and wit about him, Harry had Albus smiling with his mock-sly words.

It was a lot harder to bring all that together with a murderer and a thief. _A mercenary,_ the boy had said, freely and without a hint of shame to it. According to Harry, it wasn’t a rare thing either - whole bands of them roamed between the stars.

And Harry had joined them. Barely an adult _now,_ how soon had he started? Albus couldn’t help but wonder, but his mind was unable to come up with the image. Two wars against two Dark Lords, and still there were things he had yet to encounter. Albus wasn’t sure if he should feel glad, then.

“Indulge my curiosity, Harry,” he said, the smile not once slipping from his face. “An old man like myself seldom has the pleasure of learning new and exciting things.”

A soft snort of amusement followed. “I was able to hold the spell for a few seconds today,” Harry finally replied with a touch of pride in his voice. “When I can do it consistently, Flitwick’s planning to start on other charms.”

“Professor Flitwick is a wonderful teacher, I’m sure you will catch up soon enough,” Albus said, coming to a halt in front of the massive double doors of the Entrance Hall. One half stood open, letting in some of the summer heat. “When he declares you ready, I will introduce you to a few other people who might be willing to tutor you. With the nature of our… agreement, it might be best not to rely solely on Hogwarts’ Professors.”

“What a way to say I’m a bit of a bother,” Harry said with a well-natured laugh.

“Not in the slightest, my dear boy,” Albus replied and they went out and across the vast lawn, the forest looming from afar and the lake to their right. “We both decided on it. Come along now - I will bring you to the gates. I have a meeting at the Ministry myself.”

Harry pulled a face and Albus couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. “You have no fondness for the government?” he asked.

“Not really, no. Is yours very different from the - Muggle one, wasn’t it?”

“Just so. And yes, the Ministry of Magic operates a bit differently from our mundane counterpart. Magical communities are often a bit slower to change, as you will notice with time. In some places, the government has barely changed from the times of the Romans - some fifteen hundred years ago if we look at Europe.”

“That’s a long time,” Harry agreed after a moment and Albus let himself wonder if time was measured differently between the stars. “I actually had a question for you. Before we split up.” Nodding towards the looming gates, he lowered his pace, Albus matching him with interest.

“And what kind of question would that be?”

“It’s more of a request. A friend of mine is interested in meeting with you. You might know him - he never stops reminding people how important he is. Tony Stark?”

Now Albus’ curiosity was truly sparked. He’d wanted to meet Harry’s new Muggle friends, those extraordinary people. He’d not lied to Severus when they’d talked about them - the ICW, at least, was invested in the doings of the Avengers. And even with the British Ministry entirely uninterested in the activities of supposedly superpowered Muggles, Albus very much shared the opinion of the Confederation. “If he is able to accompany you to England the next time you have your lessons, I would be more than happy to meet this friend of yours. I’ve heard good things about Mr Stark. He will not be able to enter Hogwarts, however; another meeting place will be needed.”

“I’ll ask him if he knows something in London, then,” Harry said with a grin, obviously happy with Albus’ agreement. “Thanks for that.”

“No need, no need,” Albus replied. What a satisfactory outcome - a connection with this Mr Stark might very well be the thing he needed to further the fledgeling trust between him and Harry. Furthermore, the man was, despite his earlier reputation, known as altruistic and of a brilliant mind. If he played his cards just right, Mr Stark would prove a valuable contact on his own.

With another smile, he opened the gates and said his goodbyes to the young man before apparating away.

\---

 **A bit later...**  
Ministry of Magic

It didn’t surprise Albus to see Cornelius Fudge so nervous. Ever since the fiasco at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, the Minister was trying to ‘keep things under control’, as he said. From Albus’ understanding, it mainly meant that Cornelius sent him even more missives than usual - this was the third personal meeting he’d asked of the Headmaster this summer, not counting the official ones. The Minister wasn’t yet so desperate to try and corner him in front of others about _this._

“We are losing face, Albus,” Cornelius said, a refrain Albus had heard many times. “The public still wants us to catch those criminals. No wonder, it happened so close to all those children-”

“And it is only proper to set things right, I agree,” Albus interrupted him. They’d spent an hour arguing already and he felt tired. “But we have no knowledge of what they might be after. Neither Bartemius Crouch Jr nor Peter Pettigrew have been seen since June. You know my stance on this.”

“And you know what I think of your little theory, Albus! They might be Death Eaters, but I don’t believe for one moment that they’re still working for- for him! And if they were, they’re clearly delusional, nothing else. Ghosts and phantoms, Albus, they only serve to frighten the masses.”

“And Dementors at Hogwarts are not just that? I won’t have it. Not even if they truly were after Hogwarts. Send Aurors if you must, you know they are more than welcome. But I won’t let you post Dementors around a school full of vulnerable children.”

Cornelius reddened for a moment, but then he deflated and slumped down, his head in his hands. “We have no clues, nothing at all to hint at where they could be. For all we know they could already be on the mainland! We don’t even know what they might’ve wanted from the Tournament. The isolation of Miss Weasley and Mr McLaggen seemed random at best.”

“Except that one of them died.”

“One of them died, yes.” Cornelius took a deep breath and Albus felt some pity for this man. He’d been elected because there had been no better alternative at that time and he’d done well enough in his years as Minister. Peacetime allowed for men like Cornelius Fudge to prosper; not many things needed his close attention. The Ministry might not be as uncorrupted or modern as Albus would like to see (they were certainly not going with the time, but this was a trend more widespread than just magical Britain), but it worked well enough.

The cracks only showed under pressure, and Cornelius proved to be more fragile than Albus had hoped for, too eager for desperate measures that would promise a quick gain in popularity.

Cornelius sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Very well. We’ll speak of this later. It’s no use if we’re seen at odds, and we have some time left. Hopefully, the Aurors will find something. The Prophet is already pointing out our lack of progress.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the man that the Prophet should be the least of his worries. But Albus simply sighed and made to stand up, putting a smile on his face that felt strained. “I’ll be available, of course,” he promised, because he had to. Each day it seemed Cornelius was under more and more pressure. Albus didn’t enjoy any of this, but he had to take on a part of it, otherwise the man would snap. And no one would want the Minister to lose his head; it could be a disaster. “Shall we go, then?”

To think that he’d come to actually yearn for the dreadfully boring Wizengamot sessions. But they were less stressful than keeping the Minister from deploying _Dementors_ to Hogwarts.

Thankfully, Cornelius looked just as ready to end their argument as Albus felt, and stood up a bit too quickly to be polite. He really had to do something about their strained relationship. If only the search for that elusive black book would prove fruitful… Maybe Albus needed another talk with Miss Weasley, but with her current attachment to Harry he was reluctant to consult with her any more about the incident.

Better to do it alone, or with some of his staff. Yes, he should ask Severus when he was back in Hogwarts. Maybe tomorrow; who knew how long today’s session would drag…

A loud, explosive noise pulled Albus out of his thoughts. Immediately, he let his wand slip into his hand, moving to intercept the Minister, who poked his head out into the corridor. Whirling around, Albus erected a brilliant shield just in time to catch a viciously looking hex and deflect it.

“Albus!” Cornelius screeched and the little man was now clinging to him, making the Headmaster grimace. More screams echoed through the corridor and another explosion shook them.

It wasn’t enough to break Albus’ concentration, however. His eyes were focused on the figure in front, wand flicking with unerring precision as he transfigured the wall next to the attacker. A giant’s hand made out of plaster and stone grabbed at the man, squeezing just enough to elicit a cry of pain. His wand flew away and into Albus’ hand with a silent _Expelliarmus._ For a moment the spell light was bright enough to illuminate the face of the bound man before another explosion close-by caused smoke and dust to billow into the corridor.

“Cornelius,” Albus said, noticing _both_ hands of the Minister hadn’t stopped clutching his robes. “Your amulet.”

“Right, righ-” After a bit of fumbling, a low, echoing sound rushed through the building, hopefully alerting security that their Minister was in danger.

Judging by the earlier noise, someone was setting up explosives in the upper floors. Albus made sure that the attacker was secure within the wall’s grasp before ushering Cornelius back into his office.

“What is this?” the man screamed, adding to the chaotic noises spreading throughout the Ministry. “Albus, what- we’re under attack!”

“I know, Cornelius,” Albus said, only half listening to the panicked man. He was too busy bespelling the door. The office had its own charms and security spells, but he didn’t trust them to hold against more volatile means. Especially when, after a quick inspection, Albus noticed that the walls were barely included. With a frown, he went back to work. “I am setting up additional safety measures until the Aurors arrive. _Expecto Patronum!”_

Silver mist condensed around the tip of Albus’ wand, coalescing quickly into a brilliant phoenix which spread its wings as if to shelter the Headmaster. Its soothing croon finally stopped Cornelius’ gibbering as well, a rather welcome side effect of his spellcasting. “Rufus, Minister Fudge is in his office. Please come and collect him. I am unsure how long I can hold them off. There is a possibility that employees of the Ministry are either part of the attack or under the Imperius.” With another small swish, his Patronus rushed through the wall, taking the direct route.

“What do you mean, the Imperius?” Cornelius quacked behind him and Albus finally turned around. The Minister was shaking and pale, looking decidedly sickly with his fear. Looking down, he saw that the man was clutching his wand so hard it might just as well snap in a moment.

“The man that attacked us in the corridor normally works as a scribe. Maxwell Dunbar, if I am not mistaken. A former Ravenclaw - perfectly civil and even quite pleasant as company,” Albus explained and started adding a few more subtle spells to strengthen his safety measures. “I doubt that he is the type to suddenly engage in terrorist activities, Cornelius.”

“Dunbar!” For a moment, Cornelius looked even more shocked but then he shook himself and peered at the door. “What’s taking them so long?”

“Your Aurors?” Another explosion, a bit farther away than before. Cornelius winced as he met Albus’ steely gaze. It turned into a flinch when a silver mountain lion pounced at them. A hex shot through the Patronus without any effect and with a moan, the Minister clutched his wand even closer to himself.

“They hit the Floo network and are now focusing on the elevators. We’ll need a few more minutes. Keep him safe, Dumbledore,” Scrimgour’s voice said through the lion’s mouth before the beast dissolved into mist. That certainly explained why Albus hadn’t seen anyone - with the Floo network down and the elevators under attack, people had to take the stairs to get around the different levels, losing precious time thanks to the erratic layout of each Department.

It’d keep him here for too long, but with Cornelius with him, Albus had no choice but to stay and ensure the safety of the Minister until Rufus made it through. “Stay here,” he ordered the frightened man, who stared at him with mounting horror. “I will not go farther than the corridor, but we need to know if someone approaches.”

“You can’t leave me here!” Cornelius immediately shouted and made a grab for Albus’ arm. Sidestepping the hysterical Minister, Albus thought about simply stunning him, but no - he had to think about their relationship _after_ this attack. Cornelius was a prideful man. _Only when there is no other option, Albus,_ he scolded himself.

“This is the safest place for you until the Aurors arrive,” he tried to explain. “You cannot come out with me.”

“Then stay,” Cornelius said, wringing his hands. “They’re after me, surely! I’m the Minister!”

“I have enchanted the door so that none other than I can enter,” Albus replied, sharper now. “Which is why I need to be out there. Now, the spell works only from the outside. When I call, you can come out and-”

A flurry of motion interrupted him. Jerking around, Albus sent Cornelius’ desk and the chairs around it flying towards the man that grew out of a rat. “Peter!” he roared over Cornelius’ scream and Peter Pettigrew dove forward, too close for Albus to stop him grabbing onto the Minister.

“Stop right there!” the pudgy man shouted and right before the furniture hit both, they slammed into the wall behind them. Peter grinned, sweating and tense, but he _grinned,_ showing off sharp teeth matching the even sharper-looking nails currently pressed against Cornelius’ exposed throat. “Good,” he added, licking his lips nervously, small eyes on Albus. “Very good. Away with that wand, or Fudge bites it.”

A whimper followed the savage statement. Peter wasn’t the only one sweating from the stress of the situation - his hostage, Cornelius, was white as a sheet, eyes rolling upwards in panic. His own wand was on the ground and Peter kicked it away from all three of them. Albus took a precious moment to take in his options, but he could almost sense the unnatural sharpness of Peter’s nails. Already they were digging deeper into vulnerable flesh.

He could incapacitate him, but not before he did damage Albus wasn’t sure he could heal in time. There was a curse on Peter’s right hand, an unnatural mutation deforming the appendage. And with the Minister’s life on the line, Albus had no option but to carefully throw his own wand away. He could feel it’s call, thrumming through his body even with the distance between them. It would come if he called, but not now. Not with Peter watching his every move.

“What do you want, Peter?” Albus asked and he saw the flinch on the man’s face. He was almost able to forget the young boy Peter had once been, timid and shy as he was sorted into Gryffindor.

Almost.

“Oh, nothing much,” Peter said, flexing his hands in an obvious threat. Cornelius whimpered pitifully in response. “Just for you to hold still. _Diffindo!”_

~~~

 **August 9th, 2015**  
Daily Prophet Offices, London

“There’s no way there isn’t more to this!” Rita Skeeter said loudly, a sharp edge to her voice. “Bozo, quickly, are the pictures done yet?”

Her assistant lumbered over, handing in a manila folder that she opened up with visible impatience. The story was hot, burning her fingertips with excitement, but with Albus ‘I value my privacy’ Dumbledore as one of the main players, it was notoriously difficult for her to get any information at all. Who attacked the Ministry? How did Dumbledore get hurt during it? Some incredibly juicy things to write about. Not to mention the sheer destruction of the Auror’s Department and the Floo network! But she needed more. She could _smell_ it, something more was going on than just a random attack. If only she knew who the culprits were. Thank goodness she’d been in the Ministry when the alarm went off, trying for an interview with the Weasley who’d worked for Crouch.

She’d have to go back there soon, but now this was so much bigger and possibly even _connected!_ “Isn’t that Scrimgour?” she asked as she shuffled through the photographs, watching the scowling Auror talking to a distraught secretary. She remembered that; soon after, another Auror had shooed her out of the department. As if she didn’t have every right to be there!

“Yeah, that’s the bloke,” Bozo said and Rita rolled her eyes, flicking her fingers at him to shush him.

“He’s handling the Crouch and Pettigrew case,” she murmured. It _could_ be enough to connect the cases in her article. The public would eat it up, which was always good for sales. Usually she didn’t mind going for it, but there had to be more, and at heart, she was still a proper reporter, even if what she wrote for the prophet didn’t actually reflect on that.

Oh, if only she could get her hands on the little Weasley girl! Interviewing her would’ve been the cherry on top when she’d reported on the Tournament. The girl had been fierce, much to Rita’s liking, and she’d gotten one interview with her during her time with the Champions. But not _after_ the incident, what with Dumbledore hovering.

Really, what was it with the Weasleys and the trouble following them? Maybe this would turn into an expose…

“Bozo!” she said, snapping her fingers as an urgent thought crossed her mind. “Go to Emilia, now! She said something about a wedding, get me her announcement list. Hurry!”

If she remembered right, that horrid crone Emilia _did_ talk about a certain upcoming wedding. Not that Rita made it a habit to listen to the old biddy, who was content with her announcement section. But the name Weasley tended to stand out big time ever since their little girl was chosen as Champion. Watching Bozo exit her office, she leant back and grabbed for a cigarette, lighting it up with her wand. A visit could get her some inspiration. And maybe some alone time with either that Percival boy or the little Missus. Weren’t the parents friends with Dumbledore as well?

Yes, Rita could see the opportunities coming her way. For now, she’d write some speculations down for the Evening Prophet. About the attack, obviously, but nothing yet too spicy in accusations, just enough to get some reactions from people. Definitely about Dumbledore’s injury and a few more jabs about the poor security in the Ministry. Some words about the dead as well. That should make Fudge more than nervous, what with her recent campaign about the lack of progress with that McLaggen boy!

“I’ve got it, Miss Skeeter,” Bozo gasped, a bit out of breath as he shuffled into the room, a sheet of parchment in his hand. Rita sneered at the material but grabbed it nonetheless, eyes hungrily moving over the words until they focussed on one line in particular.

_We are happy to announce the upcoming marriage between William Arthur Weasley and Fleur Delacour!_

“Oh, Bozo,” she said with a warm smile on her lips, the feeling of excitement like a storm in her chest. “Get your gear ready. We’re going to a wedding this week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 5053


	16. Oh Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Love - Phildel
> 
> Thanks to EssayOfThoughs and cb3, my two wonderful helpers! I hope all my readers stay safe and have as much joy and fun as can be had in these times. To all who are starting NaNo: Good words! You can do it!

**August 9th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Ever since the Triskelion incident, Steve felt most at ease with Natasha. Going through all that together had built a unique understanding between them - different to what she had with Clint, but no less durable.

It helped, doing this with her. Steve didn’t like to think about what they’d done in order to defeat Hydra; a lot of lives had been put at risk when they dumped those files. Thinking about Bucky was… easier and harder at the same time. When _wasn’t_ he thinking about Bucky? Worrying if he was safe, if he was healthy, if he needed help - it was an endless stream of what-if’s that grew only stronger during their search.

Especially when faced with information about Bucky. About the Winter Soldier and his kills and crimes. _Nothing more than a tool used to kill,_ he thought, sick to his stomach as names and dates were listed.

He should be searching for mentions of magic during the war but Bucky was, yet again, just too close to resist. He could feel Natasha’s eyes on him every now and then, knowing that she had caught on to what he was doing. Guilt squirmed in his chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to not look at all the faces of the dead.

“Steve,” she finally said when he went to look up more.

Steve flinched. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, neither moved. Then Natasha shifted and put a hand on his shoulder - small, warm. Safe. “We’ll find him when he’s ready.”

“But what about his enemies? What if they get to him before then?” The thought never left Steve. He’d died before, after all - fell into the snow because Steve couldn’t save him. Couldn’t even pull him up. “Maybe something in here can help us-”

“It won’t, Steve.” Her voice was still calm, soothing - but with an edge to it. When he looked up, she was chewing her lip - an obvious tell, likely for his benefit. “Let’s take a break, okay? Friday does most of the work, anyway.”

He wanted to say no, to keep looking. But something in her eyes made him shut up and sigh instead, hand moving to close the file. “I just wish we could search for him.”

“Stark could probably find him,” Natasha said offhandedly. Steve frowned, his eyes still on the list of names, that nagging feeling back at force. Not like his guilt and worry, but strong enough that he noticed.

His hesitation became obvious. Natasha moved next to him, closing the file. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

“Natasha,” he said as she pulled him away, probably ready to bodily carry him out and to the kitchen. “Do you remember the things Zola showed us?”

They both stilled for a moment, Natasha watching him - possibly, Steve thinks, sharing that disconcerting feeling of _Déjà-vu._ Steve wracked his brain as he tried to remember _what_ it was what Zola had shown them that made his stomach turn in worry. Something about the list. Something about _Stark…_

“Yes,” Natasha said, then. “Yes, I do.” They exchanged another look, dread pooling in Steve’s belly. Without a word, she turned around and called out to Friday.

Their meal, it turned out, could easily wait as they dug deeper into the mess of the data dump. In the end, it could wait several hours.

~~~

 **August 9th, 2015**  
Hogwarts

Severus only just stopped himself from pacing, impatience boiling underneath his skin. Fortunately, it was still in the middle of the summer holidays - no student to see him waiting in front of the gargoyle for the Headmaster to arrive. What they were doing with him in St Mungo’s, he didn’t know, but for it to take so long after the attack on the Ministry made him fear for the worst.

At least Albus wasn’t injured to the point of being unable to send a Patronus, he thought as once again he stopped himself from restlessly walking the length of the corridor, hands fidgeting and his scowl deepening. Still, for him to get injured _at all…_

When the gargoyle finally moved aside, Severus nearly jumped through the archway, barely waiting for the enchanted stairs to do their job. He took the steps two at a time, robes snapping at his ankles; with the stairs spiralling upwards beneath his feet he was through the door to Dumbledore’s office and in front of Albus’ impressive desk in mere moments, staring at the old man sitting behind it.

“Cursed?” he asked, eyes set on Albus’ arms, searching for any obvious sign of injury. There was nothing, however, just the colourful sleeves of the Headmaster’s robes - no bandages peeking out.

“Cutting curse,” Albus said and, after a look from Severus, went to pull up one of his sleeves. The skin of his arm was wrinkly and pale but for a long, pinkish line where before it had been cut open. “Painful, but easy enough to mend. But I had to drink some blood replenisher and wait for it to work before the Healers let me go.”

Part of Severus’ tension left him after peering at the mended arm, but not all of it. “You said it was Pettigrew,” he said, spitting out the name like the curse it was.

Albus nodded gravely and let the sleeve fall back. “He and at least one other - most likely young Barty, possibly more. He’d gained entry to Cornelius’ office.”

“And took your blood, while the Aurors were busy somewhere else,” Severus said and finally sat down, his legs feeling heavy. He sighed, eyes closed for a moment, before he looked up again. “A significant quantity of your blood if there was a need for potions. Albus-”

“I know,” he said before Severus could finish. “But it’s done now and we can’t undo it. Rufus is already searching for them - no one was caught, but the assailants left some trails that might prove useful. I fear that by the time the Prophet runs the story, Cornelius will be desperate to see some results.”

“I don’t give a whit for the Minister!” Severus couldn’t help but thunder, nearly jumping up again. “The rat has your blood - there are only so many things that call for human blood, Albus, and he took it by force. They’re not going to try and trace your family line, this is some part of their plan. Vital, if you ask me, or they wouldn’t have _attacked the Ministry_ just to get to you!”

“And now they have it, and we can’t do much more than brace ourselves for whatever is to come.” Albus shook his head, slow and tired-looking. “I’ve sent Sirius a message to look for anything in his library that might hint at what they’re trying to do. But Severus, don’t dismiss the danger of what Cornelius might do. Right before the attack, I managed to talk him down on sending Dementors to Hogwarts.”

Severus felt himself going cold, his body jerking away in reaction to that name. “Dementors!” he snarled, hands gripping the armrests of his chair tightly. “Even he’s not fool enough-”

“Cornelius is afraid and under public scrutiny,” Albus said reprovingly. “And the lack of any progress after young McLaggen’s death has put even more pressure on him. Now two Death Eaters managed to kill two more good people, right in the middle of the Ministry itself! Cornelius will do whatever he thinks he must to seem like he’s doing _something_.” Albus sighed and briefly showed the many years that must weigh on him. “This attack could not have happened at a worse time.”

~~~

 **August 11th, 2015**  
The Burrow

“Ginny!” Ron hastened to catch up to his sister. When she turned around, he had to swallow a laugh at her scowl. “Wait- don’t leave me alone with her!”

“It would suit you right!” Ginny hissed, hands on her hips and looking a great deal like Mum, no matter that she was mostly angry at her. “You just stood there, looking all smug because she didn’t harp on you- stop laughing, Ronald!”

“It’s Ronald now, Ginevra?” Ron replied and bumped against her shoulder. She didn’t answer the friendly gesture, but she allowed him to walk with her away from the house, down the bumpy lawn towards the fence gate. “And it’s not like you’d have defended _me._ It’s not my fault that she thinks you need a boyfriend.”

“Not a boyfriend,” Ginny said quickly, her scowl deepening. “Just someone to ‘attend the very important wedding, Ginevra, and don’t give me that look’. I’m half of the mind to just call Blaise and be done with.”

“And have Parkinson kill you? He’s still in Italy, with her, and-”

“I _know_ that!” Throwing her hands up, she just barely missed his head with her sudden move. “But who should I ask, then? Neville is going with Draco, Anthony can’t dance for the life of him and I’d rather face Mum’s wrath than invite _Smith_ over. Luna’s somewhere in Uruguay with her father and Justin’s away as well. I’d ask Harry but it’s far too public.”

“There’s always cousin Albert,” Ron said with a grin and had to dodge this time when Ginny tried to smack him.

“Mum better not think of that,” she said, angry and horrified. Ron nodded with great understanding; cousin Albert was not only irritating but also _boring._ He would talk for hours about the most inane and obscure facets of magical philosophy to the point that even Percy thought better of talking to him. “It’s unfair. Why do I have to bring someone? Just because I’m one of the bridesmaids? I can just as well dance with Charlie.”

“Ask Colin,” Ron offered without much thinking. “He can take lots of pictures and I bet he’d love to see a wizarding wedding.”

Ginny stopped for a moment, head cocked to the side. “I was just about to see if I can’t make Harry ask Steve,” she said and Ron blinked, wariness rising. “But Colin is actually better. I can ask _both.”_

“Who’s Steve?” Ron asked, not liking the look of his sister when saying his name.

“One of Harry’s friends,” she replied absentmindedly, which, really, did nothing to dissuade his growing suspicion. 

“Harry’s friend,” Ron echoed and Ginny looked up, exasperation clear on her face.

“Yes, Ron. One of Harry’s friends. Prettier than Cedric, and very nice.” She smiled, sly now when Ron scowled even harder, and he knew she was having him on, but… maybe she wasn’t, which was worse. “Speaking of Harry’s friends, have you got everything ready for the meeting?”

“Almost,” Ron said, reluctant in letting the previous topic go. “Draco’s doing most of it, really, but we’re going to go over it all after the wedding. We thought of showing him the twin’s shop and the workshop.”

“Just as well. We skipped it last time,” Ginny mused. “Give it your best, yes? Stark’s a genius, he might just come up with some solutions to our problems-”

“I’m not daft, Ginny.” She grinned because she was a horrible little sister. “We got it. Now go and call Colin, I’ll hold Mum off.”

With a quick “Thanks!” and a wave she was off towards the orchard to hide between the apple trees, and no moment too late - behind him, the door to the Burrow flew open, echoed soon after by Molly Weasley’s voice hollering their names. Squaring his shoulders, Ron turned around and made his way over to do more chores.

~~~

 **August 14th, 2015**  
The Burrow

Despite all their complaining and their Mum’s constant fear, the wedding turned out a blast. Ginny had attended a few before - their extended family was quite big, after all - but even she could admit that this one was… well. Magical.

Maybe it was because it was her _brother’s_ wedding. Bill was positively beaming with joy, looking more handsome than ever in his dress robes, always staring at his freshly wedded wife with a mix of wonder and awe. Maybe it was Fleur herself, splendid in a white and sky-blue dress covered in sparkling little crystals and pearls, her hair braided and beset with glittering butterflies, their great-aunt Muriel’s diadem crowning her head.

Maybe it was all of it: the glorious summer day bathing the Burrow in a warm light; the flowers - both arrayed pots and flowerbeds and arranged in bouquets on each table, attached to each chair - casting their sweet scent around; the masses of food Molly and Madame Delacour had prepared, savoury and sweet and delicious all around; the many guests, family and friends, dancing and chatting and having fun after the vows had been made. It was perfect in a way that left Ginny content and happy herself, dancing to the lively music first with Colin and then Ron and Charlie and even Bill when she managed to pry him away from Fleur.

She still remembered being a little girl and dancing with him, standing on his shoes and holding on tight. He was still taller than her, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, blue eyes bright with happiness, still her favourite brother.

He was a married man now, and if Mum had her way, Ginny would soon be an aunt. When she told him that, teasingly, he snorted and whirled her around just as easily as back then. Ginny shrieked and held on tight, and it was almost as if nothing bad had happened at all in her life, as if she was still that little girl adoring her cool older brother.

“We’re married for just a couple of hours, Gin,” he admonished her after, when she was safely back on the ground. “It’s a bit early, don’t you think?”

“Tell that to Mum,” she replied with a laugh and gave him back to Fleur. Together, they breezed across the dance floor. Well, Fleur did the breezing - Bill wasn’t nearly a smooth enough dancer, despite what he thought about his skills - but he happily went with it anyway.

With a quick glance around she walked towards the drinks, serving herself ice-wine before taking a seat at one of the little round tables surrounding the dancefloor. Colin was dancing with one of her cousins to give his camera a break and close-by Ginny saw Draco and Neville swaying to the music, which reminded her of the Yule Ball. One of the twins whirled around with none other than Angelina Johnson, whom Ginny had always admired for her talent in Quidditch. And there was Ron, talking with the other twin, and Hermione-

Hermione was coming towards her, sweating and out of breath, but smiling nonetheless. “Good idea,” she told Ginny, swatting lightly at a beetle that had made its way into the pavillon from the orchard. “These shoes are gorgeous, but I should’ve worn them before - my feet are killing me.”

“There’s a charm for that,” Ginny said and pulled out her wand for a quick application. Hermione sighed with relief.

“A variation of _Molliare?”_

Ginny nodded. “That and a cooling charm on top.” Putting her wand away again, she reached for her wine and took a sip. “How are you holding up?”

“Now? Much better. It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” Hermione smiled even wider as she looked around and Ginny nodded her agreement, leaning back into her seat and giving her feet a much needed rest. “I know it’s far too early to even think about these things, but… well, when Ron and I stay together-”

“I’m pretty sure Mum’ll have your heads if you _don’t_ marry here,” Ginny told her flatly, which prompted Hermione to chuckle. “But yes, it’s really something. Definitely worth all the work we did for the last couple of weeks.”

“Don’t tell Ron I told you, but he said the exact same thing half an hour ago,” Hermione said with a wink. Giggling, Ginny passed her glass to her, sharing the wine as they watched the dancers. “Oh, by the way,” Hermione continued, casting her a glance. “He also asked me if I knew someone called Steve - and if I could keep an eye on him when you’re about.”

Thank goodness she wasn’t drinking right now, Ginny thought as she snickered. “Did he now?”

“Hmh.” Taking a sip herself, Hermione’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “I told him it’s your business.”

“He’s horribly protective. I know for a fact that he tried to intimidate Blaise when we started dating.”

“He tried to corner _Harry,”_ Hermione said and now they were both giggling. “Remember when you said he didn’t look half-bad? Ron told me he better not try anything with you, and then he said he’d talk to him. Of course I didn’t let him.”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Ginny agrees. “That, and that you didn’t tell him about Steve. It’s not even that I think I could date him - he’s just really nice to look at, wasn’t he?”

Hermione didn’t answer that - she just smiled slyly and said: “Same with Harry, huh?”

“Please,” Ginny said with a snort, shaking her head. “He’s… well, he’s good-looking in a way. In a _weird_ way. We’re getting on well enough, I guess, and he’s nice and all, but not exactly boyfriend material, if you know what I mean. He’s just so-”

“Alien?” Hermione laughed and dodged the half-hearted slap in her direction.

“It’s not _bad_ \- he’s nice, as I said, and he kind of fits in,” Ginny continued, stealing back her wine. “To be honest, I did have a crush on him.” Smiling at Hermione’s sputter, Ginny tossed her hair back. “I was six and Mum got me “Harry Potter and the Mystery of the Centaurs”. It was my favourite book by far and fancied I’d marry him one day.”

The confusion and shock on Hermione’s face slipped away, replaced with mirth. “Oh my god, we have to get him one of those, I forgot all about them!” she crowed, one hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “I saw them in Flourish and Blotts when I researched him back in… well, after third year, what with Sirius and all. They looked _horrid.”_

“They’re children’s adventure mysteries, of course they look horrid.” The idea had some merit, however. “He’ll hate it,” she said with glee. “I think I still have my copies in the attic… I’ll bring them with me to Grimmauld, next Friday.”

“He’ll think we're all mad. I mean, he probably already does.”

“Not my fault he’s this country’s obsession,” Ginny said, causing another round of giggles between them - just as Ron finally found his way to their table, suspicious in the face of their laughter.

~~~

The little beetle flew off the moment the three went back to the dancefloor, buzzing with excitement. Dodging some of the guests outside the pavillon, the little insect quickly made its way to the orchard and through the ancient apple trees to the edge of the property.

She could’ve stayed longer - could’ve tried to get more out of the wedding party. She had, after all, heard almost nothing about the attack on the Ministry _or_ the Tournament incident. Just the regular gossip, mostly involving her very own article on the matter.

This, however... This was intriguing. Whoever the Harry they were talking about was - surely not Harry _Potter,_ the boy had been missing for almost a _decade_ \- it certainly merited investigation. Staying at Grimmauld Place - the mysterious home of Sirius Black, mourning godfather of the Boy Who Lived - and this “Harry”, who was alien, strange...

Didn’t muggle-borns call the Dark Elves aliens?

Well. This could be interesting. She’d have to investigate further of course, get a look at the boy herself, get a picture if possible. But the idea was delectable fun - an alien pretending to be the Boy Who Lived. With the Death Eater attacks, the meddling in the tournament, everything else... already people had little faith in Fudge, and for good reason. This might just force the damned man out of office.

A rumour was more than enough to build upon. Yes, she’d start with a small article using her _other_ pen name, just to gauge the interest. And in the meantime, she had some scouting to do.

~~~

 **August 14th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Pietro stormed down the corridor to his and Wanda’s room. He didn’t quite run, despite the lick of blue and silver blurring his steps. He had more control than that. Stomping, though, felt just as satisfying as he threw open the door.

Wanda sat at one of the windows, a heavy tome open on her lap. Seeing her like that, feeling content and calm and even _happy,_ took the edge off of Pietro’s own agitation. She only looked up briefly before turning a page.

The illustration on it, painted in vivid colours, moved - glowing circles and symbols that lazily spun around, held up or projected by a monk-like person.

“This is so weird,” Pietro said because no matter how often he saw that book (or any other book that Stark and the Captain and Harry had brought back from their trip to London), he was still far from used to the moving pictures in them. Yes, he’d seen many things - war, Hydra, Ultron, Vision… hell, even Wanda’s and his powers were anything but natural - but something about the hand-written parchment and the elaborate, moving paintings struck him as oddly _other._

It was almost enough to distract him from his own problems and woes. Almost - when he stepped closer, the feel of his current outfit against his skin caught up to him and he scowled, tugging at the form-fitting shirt and shorts, both in a nondescript charcoal color.

“It’s very fascinating,” Wanda replied, eyeing the illustration with interest. “I’ll lend it to you when I’m finished.”

“Which one is it?” Not that he actually planned on reading the book. Wanda would tell him the interesting parts when asked, anyway.

“Obscure Magical Myths and Legends,” she replied, a smile tugging at her lips. Looking up again, she eyed Pietro in a way that told him that she could tell that he was in a mood and maybe even guess why.

It wasn’t hard, between them. Pietro was fully aware that Wanda could read him just as easily, if not better, than the book on her lap - the tether between their minds was a constant and reassuring reminder of that. “What?” he still asked, because he was annoyed and wouldn’t mind talking about it.

“You look troubled,” Wanda said and Pietro could _feel_ the soft amusement tingling down their connection. He breathed out, tugging at his shirt again before turning away to check on the parts most suffering from friction during his runs.

“Stark finished the prototype.” And it still stung, how quickly the man had managed that - presenting him with a couple of sets of sportswear to try out. Pietro had hoped that they’d fail, despite needing some functional clothes. The lack of holes in the sturdy, stretchy fabric was terribly frustrating.

Because Stark had worked _fast_ on Pietro’s request, succeeding after only a few days. Just as Wanda suggested he would.

“That’s a good thing, yes?”

“Is it?” Pietro snapped - secure that Wanda knew he wasn’t annoyed with her. “He just… _gave_ this to me,” he continued, gesturing at himself - at the shorts and the shirt, fitting him like a glove just like his previous outfit. Another set, still untouched, contained a long-sleeve shirt and proper pants. The shoes were custom made as well, the soles barely scraped after his run. It was infuriating, how competent Stark was. “Without asking for something himself. I asked him for this, and he made it.”

“Pietro,” Wanda said. He looked up and she’d closed her book, pushing it aside for now. “Are you worried he might still ask you for something in return? Or are you worried that he won’t?”

“I don’t know. Both? Maybe?” He knew that his annoyance wasn’t rational. Had anyone else given him this, it wouldn’t have bothered him as much. But it was Stark he’d asked, Stark who’d agreed too easily, who had finished his request so swiftly. Stark who was housing them, no matter how often Pietro tried not to think about it. They’d hated him for so long and he knew Wanda wanted to mend things, to make this easier for the siblings, but some stubborn part didn’t want to let go. Not so soon, at least.

“I got the impression that Stark likes to make things for the Avengers - for us,” Wanda said after a moment of thoughtful silence, eyes still on Pietro. “So I think he will not ask you for anything as payment. If it bothers you, you can always offer something of your own.”

“What could I even offer him?” Pietro asked and watched Wanda shrug.

“Something that you can do - something that would help him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 4206
> 
> Now that Rita Skeeter smelled some headlines, what do you think her article about this mysterious 'Harry' will be called?


	17. Cheeseburger In Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheeseburger In Paradise - Jimmy Buffett
> 
> As always, thanks to my wonderful betas, EssayOfThoughts and cb3!

**August 17th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

“So,” Harry said, twirling his spoon between his fingers. Yogurt was weird and despite Clint’s urging, adding fruits to it didn’t help much. “You want to fly the Downfall today?”

“Harry, no,” Steve immediately said, but he was neither loud nor quick enough to drown out Tony’s enthusiastic _“Yes! Yesyesyes!”_.

Harry only grinned at Steve, who frowned a bit. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Harry?” the Captain then asked, which prompted Tony to glare at him.

“It’s a brilliant idea, Cap! And Harry asked _me_ a question. My answer is yes, by the way, I want to fly the ship, thank you very much.”

“Got it,” Harry replied and put the spoon down. “And it’s not that hard or even dangerous. Besides, Tony’s been taking apart the Downfall little by little whenever there’s time for it. Better he learns how to fly an M-ship before he builds his own, right?”

“I thought some key elements couldn’t be gotten on Earth?” The good Captain looked a bit faint now. Which was weird - sure, Tony was a bit of a man-child, but he was also a genius if Harry's ever seen one. A rich, inventive genius with his own flying suit and all.

“You can buy those, with enough credits. Terra’s got some things that are valuable on the market,” Harry said with a shrug. “Fuck, with the Quadrant Peter could easily bring back a whole ship for you or two. There’s enough space for a few of them, but he wants to reverse-engineer it even if it takes, like, years.”

“What’s the fun in just buying one?” Tony said with a bright smile and a challenging look in Steve’s direction. “Trust me a bit here, Elsa. I’m not going to crash the ship into the royal palace.”

For a moment, Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but then he took a big breath and shrugged with those broad shoulders of his. “Yeah, okay. Just be a bit careful. After Albany, people are a bit twitchy when it comes to spaceships.”

Albany. Harry sighed when Steve immediately tensed after his words. It was subtle, but the hesitation was there, just as the Captain was about to get back to eating his pancakes. A small glance in Harry’s direction, before his shoulders relaxed and he tucked in.

It quickly got annoying, how people thought that Harry would break down again. Wanda was, sometimes, the same as well, but she’d at least seen some part of the mess inside his head - she had good reasons to think Harry was crazy. Only Tony didn’t shy away from talking about Albany. Which was good, in a sense, and grating in another.

It wasn’t, after all, that Harry didn’t feel anything when his thoughts went back to that place - he was just good at pushing it all down until it went away. Maybe. Probably.

Thing is, he wasn’t made out of Cordravian spire-crystal, prone to break apart at the slightest notion of outward stress.

“You done?” he asked Tony, eager to get away from here. “Can’t hurt to get there a bit early.”

“Usually I’d say that it doesn’t matter when I arrive,” Tony replied, already getting up. “But right now I couldn’t agree more.” He drained his cup of coffee, the only breakfast he’d had today, and gave Steve a light pat on the shoulder. “Ease up, Cap. Oh, and do you mind giving the new obstacle course a go? See if it’s any good?”

Sighing, Steve waved them away. “Have fun with your lunch, Tony, Harry,” he said with a small smile. “Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t stay out too late.”

“Wow, you’re so old,” Harry said with a straight face before hurrying after Tony. “Bye!”

~~~

**August 17th, 2015**  
Le Gavroche, London

Harry had what he thought was a healthy attitude towards food. He liked most of what was edible for him well enough and didn’t fuss too much about the things he didn’t particularly like - sometimes, in space, there wasn’t much to choose from depending on where you travelled along. But sometimes he’d land on a planet or a station that was lush with trade and he’d spend a bit more money than usual to go and try out new things.

Terra, he’d quickly figured out, had a _lot_ of different options. And with a man rich as Tony Stark paying the bills, Harry quickly adapted to taking full advantage of that.

That said, most of the meals he’d eaten since arriving here had been brought to the Compound or cooked by the Avengers. Either that, or he’d eaten at Hogwarts or at Grimmauld Place. There was the one lunch in the Leaky Cauldron which had been really good, full of rich meats and sauces and buttered vegetables and potatoes that filled his belly quickly and efficiently, just as he liked it. The frozen cream stuff in Diagon Alley had been really nice, too.

Le Gavroche was a whole different beast to tackle.

When Tony said that he wanted to meet Albus Dumbledore in a proper restaurant, Harry hadn’t given it much thought. A place to eat was a place to eat, and he’d seen many food places during his life with the Ravagers. Some even had tables to sit at while eating.

This table was made of dark, luxurious wood, polished to a shine and with matching chairs that felt ridiculously comfortable underneath his ass. The tablecloth was spotless and snow-white and soft to the touch.

Most things were pretty spotless and _shiny,_ even the guests. Sitting here with his sturdy and slightly dirty pants and a simple shirt he’d filched off of Clint made Harry feel very out of place.

“I can’t read this,” he said suspiciously, poking at the menu in front of him. The letters were mostly the same as the English ones - he’d learned the basics, he should know. But the meaning of the words were escaping him and some letters had additional things on them that confused him. “Tony, is this another language?”

“It’s French. Don’t worry about it, I’ll order for us when your Headmaster’s here.”

Tony looked very much like he belonged here, just as he looked at home in his workshop. It wasn’t his outfit - he’d kept on his jeans, with a jacket thrown over an old shirt, because Harry had to drag him out of the lab before breakfast and Tony hadn’t wanted to change before they flew off. He even had _oil stains_ on his right leg. Still, the man carried himself with so much confidence, throwing bright smiles around at anyone who dared to glare at them.

It was the way people reacted to him that made him fit. The way the waiters threw themselves at their table, wine and snacks in hand, always asking if everything was alright and if Mr Stark needed anything. It was fucking hilarious.

“So, what’s the difference between this restaurant and the Leaky?” Harry asked, because they were early and he was moderately hungry after the yogurt disaster and very much ready for some quality lunch. He hoped it’d be as good as the lasagne place they ordered from. “Besides the fancy room. It’s a very fancy room.”

Tony gave him a disgusted and aghast look and threw a linen napkin at him, because naturally Le Gavroche was too good for paper ones. “Everything, you heathen, it’s everything, it’s a whole different experience! It’s called fine dining. Here, taste this!”

Eyeing the little white plate Tony shoved at him, Harry picked up one of the crackers piled with black stuff on it and gave it a sniff. The stuff looked like a wet dollop of kernels - round, slightly translucent things with a slight hue of brown and green inside. It smelled a bit like the ocean.

It tasted a bit like it, too, when he ate it. Like little tiny pieces of ocean, salty and rich and creamy and popping in his mouth. It was weird, but not in a bad way - the texture of it felt really good against his tongue.

“That’s caviar. Fish eggs. I hope you like your seafood. Try it with the rye bread next!”

By the time Harry spotted Dumbledore entering the restaurant, he and Tony had gone through the whole plate of fish eggs and breads and toppings, experimenting with different combinations and ignoring people’s stares.

It was a lot harder to ignore the thing Dumbledore was wearing, though. “Oh no,” Harry said with a badly smothered laugh.

“What is it?” It took Tony a moment to follow Harry’s gaze, but the mage noticed immediately when it happened - Tony kind of froze, wine glass still in his hand and eyes momentarily glassing over. Then some movement came back - a twitch of his lips, paired with an incredulous look in his dark, perceptive eyes. “What _is this?”_ he repeated and leant forward to get a better look.

“That’s Dumbledore,” Harry said and put a hand up and over his mouth when Tony cursed softly. And yes, Harry might not quite understand all of Terra’s dressing standards, but even he knew that the purple velvet suit and polished leather boots with silver buckles were singularly unique from what he’d seen on this planet.

For Harry, it was the whole look - it really matched the Headmaster’s flashy sense of style, but looked even more out of place than Harry’s and Tony’s lackluster effort. Golden rings glimmered on wrinkly hands and his long, white beard was held together with a matching golden band.

“You’re kidding me,” Tony murmured, somewhere between delight and horror. “I thought he knew how to blend in? You told me he was okay with meeting up here!”

“It’s not that bad,” was Harry’s gleeful reply, craning his neck to meet the Headmaster’s eye. Before he could manage that, one of the waiters hurried over, a constipated look on his face. Whatever Dumbledore said, it didn’t get rid of the pinched expression. He was, however, led towards them, causing Harry to wave a little.

“Right on time, Professor,” he greeted him, not bothering to stand up. “That’s some fancy suit you got there, by the way.”

“Good day to you, Harry, and thank you, it’s my favourite one.” Blue eyes gleamed with good humour and with a benevolent smile, Dumbledore turned to Tony and sketched out a quick bow. “Mister Stark, it’s a great pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s certainly something,” Tony said and they shook hands. “Now, let’s order some food and talk.”

~~~

Tony quickly realised that talking with Albus Dumbledore was at once fun, elucidating and frustrating, all in equal parts. He didn't just dress eccentrically, his whole personality was unexpected, at once calm and mentor-like, marked with unexpected bursts of humour and not infrequent moments of cutting insight. Rather like the bright unexpectedness of his purple velvet suit, his personality took Tony aback.

Naturally, Harry, who already knew the guy to some extent, was of absolutely no help whatsoever the moment the first course arrived.

“This is _so good,”_ the kid said between bites of his Risotto d’orge - he was eating it slowly and attentively, more than once moving bits of food around in his mouth as if to figure out the best way to chew it. “Oh _man.”_

“Please stop moaning,” Tony said into his wine glass before turning back to Dumbledore. “‘scuse him. Poor alien taste buds and all. So, you were saying that there are methods to _fold space_ with your magic?”

And Dumbledore, with that twinkle in his eyes and a benevolent smile, raised his own glass of wine and said: “Well, yes, of course.”

Apparently, Tony had already been to such a place before. Diagon Alley was a prime example of spatial magic, a whole part of London that had been separated and hidden from the rest of the city shortly before the Statute of Secrecy had been enacted. In almost every capitol and some other major cities around the world, magic users had simply hidden themselves away.

By _folding space._ On _Earth._

It did make sense, in a way. With today’s technology and the extensive and ever-growing net of satellites, simple illusions would’ve given away any hideouts. Especially when it came to, as Dumbledore told him, whole _stretches of land_ that were used as _dragon enclosures._

_**Dragon enclosures.** _

“I want a week in your library. No, screw this, make that a week of your library in my lab, so that I can scan your books and read them like a proper modern person,” Tony said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “And I want to see a dragon. I want to _have_ a dragon. Twelve. How much do dragons cost?”

“It’s against the law,” Harry said flippantly, having since moved onto an exquisite arrangement of stuffed squid with roasted salsify. The whole dish was miniscule and cube-formed, but apparently very tasty, judging from Harry’s face.

Tony was far too busy to eat right now. Because dragons. And folding space. “Can you make bags with more space in them?” he asked and didn’t know if he wanted to even hear the answer.

It came in the form of Dumbledore’s purse that the old man gave him. The purse matched his suit in colour and had very fine golden stitching along the hems that looked a bit like the kind of runes Thor would scribble down.

Tony also was able to shove most of his arm inside without ever coming into contact with the bottom of it.

Life changing and mind blowing news aside, educating Tony about magical theory wasn’t what Dumbledore was here for. By the time the main course arrived (Confit trout with a refreshing side of caponata), Dumbledore had somehow turned the conversation _away_ from all the interesting bits of spatial manipulation and towards more serious matters.

Like, for instance, his position in a governmental institution called the ICW.

“It’s a very delicate matter, Mr Stark,” he said between appreciative bites. He’d just reapplied what he’d called a privacy charm after one of the waiters had refilled their glasses and Tony really, really wanted to know how it worked. It was alarming and intensely interesting to see how, with just a flick of a wand, most of the attention of the other guests fell away from their eccentric group. “The Statute of Secrecy is one of our most important laws, as you must know by now. Usually, only close relatives and the spouses of our kind are allowed to retain any knowledge of magic. Your case is extremely special.”

“I wondered about that, actually,” Tony said. “Anyone following the news knows that Harry’s with us right now, but nobody came to change that.” Ever since meeting Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley, to be precise. He’d read about the Statute in some of the history books he’d bought, too. Maybe this was the catch - a pleasant lunch to lure him in and ‘modify’ his memories?

No. Glancing towards Harry, Tony felt secure that at least for now, Dumbledore wouldn’t try it. Besides, Tony had some safety nets in place, although the thought of someone messing with his brain had him recoiling.

“That’d be because the ICW has decided not to,” Dumbledore replied calmly. He still looked like some idealistic version of a grandfather, but his bright blue eyes had a focus in them that made it hard for Tony to not pay attention. “Mostly because of Harry, naturally, but part of the reason is your very own reputation, Mr Stark. The Avengers’ reputation. I am here in hopes to impress you on the very delicate nature of our existence, and how unwise it would be to bring any undue attention to the wizarding world.”

It was something, alright. Not as bad as Tony had feared, but it tasted of responsibility in a way that reminded him of his decision to end Stark Industry’s weapon sales. Because he could see all the opportunities it would create, to make Earth’s magic a well-known fact - and all the risks and downfalls of it. All the panic and chaos and suspicions thrown around.

_Magic,_ he thought bitterly. _Not superpowers. Nothing out of a bottle or an alien stone, nothing you can just create with the right amount of material and brains. Magic._

He didn’t like it. Keeping quiet about it. He didn’t like the thought of faceless people going around and messing with the memory of unlucky bastards seeing something they shouldn’t be seeing.

But thinking of girls like Granger being hunted down for what she was, what she could do...?

Scowling, Tony put down his fork and reached for the wine. “I’m not going to tattle on you,” he finally said. “It’s not my place, and it’d be a headache to control.”

Dumbledore smiled, looking grimly pleased by Tony’s words. “Thank you, Mr Stark,” he said and tapped his wand on the table between them. With the lightest flicker of blue sparks, a sheet of parchment appeared. “This is what you would call a non-disclosure agreement. It is, of course, magical - nothing malicious, but a bit more binding. You may take this with you and read it carefully; there is some room for change, which can be discussed at a later time, I think.”

“And how exactly does this thing bind us?” Tony asked, eyeing the parchment with great wariness.

“As I said, it isn’t malicious. It simply lets us know if you break one of the agreed upon points once signed.”

It felt like making a deal with the devil. An old, charming devil with powers Tony didn’t really know how to deal with yet, and a brain he dearly wanted to pick.

“Don’t worry, Tony,” Harry said, polishing off the last of his caponata with a piece of bread. “If this is some kind of scam, I’ll avenge you.”

“Your puns are terrible and I hate you,” Tony replied and took the parchment anyway.

~~~

**August 17th, 2015**  
Grimmauld Place

“You don’t have to be so nervous, Ron,” Sirius said from where he sat slouched on an armchair. “Stark’s kinda weird but the good sort. Stop pacing.”

“Ginny showed me some Muggle magazines, okay,” Ron argued back, his hands moving in sharp gestures. “Do you know how _rich_ he is? He’s, like, insanely wealthy. And he’s a genius! This was a fucking terrible idea, Draco!”

“As long as he can figure out how to make us SIM cards that work within a magical network, I don’t care what kind of man he is, Ron,” Draco said. He, too, looked far too relaxed in Ron’s eyes, taking up half a couch with a notebook in hand. Ron knew that notebook - they’d gone through the numbers often enough that Ron _dreamed_ of them. Sales predictions, costs of operation, how much they had to earn per unit, how many phones and RuneChargers they could prepare against their hopes of the demand once they started selling.

Draco had even added some tentative estimates on how much money a deal with Mr Stark could save them. Which was important, because this would be their job. This would be _his_ job, his future livelihood. No cozy promises of apprenticeships should all of this go south, the way Mrs Black could offer Draco; no stunning NEWT grades that’d keep job offers open for a long time. No _actual_ apprenticeship the way Hermione had hers, only helping when she had time.

Ron had put his metaphorical money on MagiTech. And while they could, in theory, just sell the phones and RuneChargers to the Muggle-borns and Half-bloods, he’d set his eyes on a far bigger market: the Purebloods.

Something hit his ear, pulling him out of his line of thought. Looking up, he saw Sirius pointing at him.

“Sit. Down,” the man said, rolling his eyes. “Relax. He’s not bad, I swear. He’ll love the twin’s shop.”

“Fine,” Ron huffed and joined Draco on the couch. “Fine. I’m relaxing.” Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about how many ways they could fuck this up. He didn’t know the bloke, after all. And sure, he got along with Draco and Sirius, both who came from old money, it was barely comparable, right?

~~~

A lot of people never truly appreciated the amount of work reporters did. Even Rita’s more avid readers had no idea what went into her articles, even the more outrageous ones she wrote. Because every story needed _some_ truth to sell - some kernel of information to base all the drama on.

So when she got a hint of a juicy story, ready to be published… She went to work to find that truth. How much of that would find itself in the finished product wasn’t important.

Staking out a location was her least favourite part of the job, especially with vague timeframes to work with. Thankfully, the Weasley girl had given her a _day_ \- Friday, to be precise.

Which was why Rita had been around Grimmauld Place since early in the morning when the sky had still been dark enough to hide her from plain sight. Trying to enter the house in her Animagus form sadly didn’t work, but she could sit on one of the street lamps in front of the house which gave her a good view into the second floor’s drawing room.

_And when I see them,_ she thought gleefully, _I’ll take a nice picture of that would-be-hero._ Hopefully the boy would look somewhat like Harry Potter - a likeness could allow her to really toe the line between ridicule and contemplation. A question that would split the nation: real or fake?

But first, she had to wait. And wait Rita did, until the early afternoon. At some point Sirius Black had entered the drawing room, followed by the Malfoy boy and one of the less important Weasley boys. She couldn’t see the Weasley girl, though, but it was promising to see any redhead at the house today. Now she only had to look out for a bit of green light. Surely, they’d come through the Floo…

“...are we there already?”

Rita perked up and turned on her perch. Two people had just entered the open little green in the centre of Grimmauld Place - Muggles, probably. Her insect eyes weren’t quite as good with the details, but she was relatively sure that both were male, neither of them very tall.

“It wasn’t even half an hour,” the second one said, sounding a bit exasperated. “Really, walking doesn’t hurt, I don’t get why you’re whining-”

“I’m hurt, Harry,” the first one interrupted him, and now Rita was paying real attention. Flying off of the lamp post, she quickly hurried over an ill-kept little patch of bushes that grew at the side of Number 8, halfway between the two men and Number 12. “That lack of support from you, after all I’ve done? Here I am, feeding you, _clothing_ you…”

“Mooching off my contacts,” fake-Harry said, and yes, Rita’s human eyes could make out so much more as she peered through the gaps, taking care not to rustle the leaves. Carefully, she took out the little Muggle camera from her robes. She would’ve prefered her own one, of course, but it was all in all far too big for her to transform _with_ it. With any luck, it wouldn’t matter much, however. All she needed was one picture of the fake one’s face. A few steps more - just a little bit closer...!

“You do that, too,” was the swift answer, more amused than angry, but Rita barely took notice of him. No, she zoomed in on the younger male’s face, fiddling with the strange little buttons of the Muggle device, and yes, _finally,_ look at that.

Dark hair and green eyes and a thin scar just barely visible on his forehead. Whoever found this guy had been _good._ When she took the picture with a click of the camera, Rita felt the familiar excitement run through her. Tomorrow’s headline would be _hers._

“What was that?”

Her hands stilled just as she was about to take another picture - one of the two of them. But now fake-Harry was staring in her direction, and for a terrible moment Rita was sure he saw her with those green eyes of his.

“There’s someone in the shrubs,” he said, and with a curse Rita changed back, hoping it wouldn’t ruin the shot she just took. And not too soon - just as she skittered away, the two were upon her hiding spot, pulling aside the greenery.

“Invisible, maybe?” she could hear the older man ask, followed by a “Nah, no heat sources - they’re gone.” Rita didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good, so she fled further until she could hide in a little crack at Number 5’s door.

It took a few minutes until the men finally left for Number 12. For another minute or two, Rita contemplated waiting for another chance, but- no. The boy had noticed her far too quickly for her comfort. Besides, she had an article to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 4256


	18. Pop Cult Crucifixion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pop Cult Crucifixion - Aviators
> 
> EssayOfThoughts heard my plea for help with this one... and delivered. The first Wanda scene as well as Pietro's scene and half of the last scene from Harry's PoV have been written by her. Thank you very much! I was flailing around as my usual.  
> cb3 earns just as much thanks for going through the chapter with her red marker on such short notice (yes, I was once again a bit late). I'm very grateful for all of your help!
> 
> **Short mention of self-harm in this one.**

**August 17th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

Wanda didn’t sleep well without Pietro nearby. That had been the case for years, even before the bombs. There was no one like Pietro when it came to soothing her from nightmares - and there had been plenty of those. After- she just didn’t sleep well at all, sometimes even with Pietro nearby. It had eased since then. She’d become more able to fall asleep with him out of arm’s reach, more able to sleep in general.

And then there had come the experiments and her sleep was ruined once more. It was hard to sleep when, even when you closed your eyes, you could see the glowing minds around you - even through walls. After that for a long time it was easier for her to simply fall asleep in Pietro’s arms, his mind an encompassing blanket, making sure she couldn’t see anything beyond it - anything that was unfamiliar.

But they’ve had to work on that. After Ultron-

Wanda was more than aware that she couldn’t rely on her brother forever, for everything. It had helped them survive before. It was a hindrance now. She knew too that she couldn’t _say_ that, that Pietro would hate to hear it and she glanced over to where he lay on the bed beside hers, sprawled out and snoring, his hand reaching across the gap of their at-right-angles beds to snag the corner of her bed-covers.

Even now, they fell asleep holding hands.

It helped. A simple anchor, reminding her to look to his mind before the scattered glowing minds around them. But then - nightmares. Restless sleep. Pietro might be able to kick all his blankets off and not care at all, but if Wanda let go of her brother’s hand for even a second, the anchor was gone and it was all too easy to wake. She’d picked up a book to try to soothe her thoughts back towards sleep - one of the magical ones Stark had bought - but she felt too awake to rest.

And perhaps, she thought, she needed to be awake. Something felt _wrong_ amongst the minds in the base. Not- not like when that witch had infiltrated, that was more… discordance from the normal pattern, a mind out of place. This was a mind itself confused, its colours and the dance of its thoughts disturbed from what she was used to.

She sighed. It seemed, she thought briefly, that someone else was having a nightmare. With what everyone at the base had been through, they all had reason for them. She had no idea how Pietro managed so soundly to avoid them. (A lie: she knew very well how he avoided them. He cared for very little beyond the two of them. It was likely that he would be opening himself up to being hurt if he started letting other people get close again, but he needed to. _They_ needed to. They could not be just the two of them forever.)

Carefully she glanced over the minds she could see. Steve’s mind was … steady, if not peaceful, blue and cream and gold, few of the hints of red that warned of his fears or his nightmares. Natasha’s too was steady if not peaceful, same as ever, a vast plain of snow, clear as the arctic. Occasionally, more and more, she saw some silver-and-black shadow in it, something familiar to the Widow - and something familiar to Steve too if she had any guess. The cream of his mind had edged colder lately, the blue deep and dark and unsettling as the ocean. 

But she was aware of those shadows. They, she thought, were not the cause of this nightmare.

Clint was bundled with his family and all their minds were peaceful. The watching purple orb of Clint’s mind, the softer lilac of Laura’s, the children, soft bubbles of a hundred colours. The children’s dreams, she thought, were unsettling but not horrifying. Just the uneven nature of dreams - strange but not terrible. When Clint’s mind swung like a pendulum, no longer steady or controlled, then she had cause to worry, but right now he was as steady as a rock.

Vision’s mind was- was not resting, oddly enough. She knew he _could,_ falling to a strange standby she didn’t entirely know what to make of, but this isn’t that. She reached very gently, not prying in but just hoping for a closer look - Vision wouldn’t mind, that she knew. In the time since Sokovia he’d made it very clear he didn’t mind her touching his thoughts, but she would still prefer to warn him before doing so.

He was reading, she realised, peering closer. Not unlike her. There was a strange echo for a moment, the worn parchment beneath her fingers, and how Vision must feel it - and she had ventured too close, Vision’s thoughts turning to hers and she sent a swift scarlet apology before returning to her own mind.

She scanned briskly over the rest - Hill was off-site, no sign of her ever-alert mind at the moment. Rhodey was restful, armoured mind relaxed in sleep, memories of past battlefields - not unlike Steve’s or even Wilson’s - echoing at the edges, but nothing fully a nightmare. Just awareness and planning. Bruce was awake - reading too, if she had to guess, though she was not about to peer closer to his mind as she had Vision’s. Stark- 

Stark was, for once, sleeping, and from a careful distance Wanda ascertained that he too was dreaming peacefully. She did not look closer.

Which left their guest.

Carefully, Wanda turned her scarlet gaze to their sole remaining guest.

_Well._

That, Wanda thought, rather solved the question. She half wondered if it was worth it to rise, especially as Harry’s mind shifted from restless nightmare to wakeful- pain?

But then she glimpsed Bruce’s mind, startled, rising, rushing, and she relaxed. She glanced over to Pietro, still snoring.

“Friday?” she asked, pitching her voice quietly so as not to wake her brother. With her scarlet soothing over his thoughts, he didn’t even stir. She mulled briefly over her words before: “Minds are restless tonight. Is something the matter?”

For a moment the AI didn’t respond - for a moment, Wanda was almost worried. Friday was a different creature to Vision - Vision, almost alive, Friday, still a computer. 

“Harry has been injured,” said Friday. “Dr. Banner is attending to him.”

That was not, Wanda knew, the full story. But- it was not Friday’s place to reveal other people’s secrets, or to let other people pry into others’ secrets. 

“All right,” she says. “Thank you, Friday.”

“No worries.”

Wanda half-smiled. That wasn’t something Vision would ever say - wasn’t something she thought any AI would say; it was almost certainly coded in by Stark himself.

Harry was still not entirely well, even as the mind of Dr Banner hovered close, snippets of worry tingeing his thoughts. Strange shadows slipped across the surface of his mind, flashes of green and of red and of gold, something wisping off them that- tasted almost foreign. It wasn’t a thought or an emotion she’d had cause to sense like _this,_ not here.

But it would not do to involve herself. She knew Harry preferred his privacy and so she turned back to her book.

~~~

With a hiss and a gasp, Harry woke up from the horrid dream only to notice that the burning pain still lingered. Grimacing, he touched his hands to his face, gingerly moving his fingertips around until his head exploded yet again with white-hot agony the moment he brushed his scar.

Pulling his hand away, the pain slowly receding to a persistent throb, he blinked blearily at the blood clinging to his fingers.

“Is everything alright, Harry?” Friday’s voice was nothing more but a whisper in his ear, coming from one of the many speakers dotting every room in the Compound. He still flinched at the sound of her voice, his headache making him feel nauseous. His head was spinning as white flecks of light danced in front of his eyes.

“Bleeding,” he managed to get out. Not only that, he slowly noticed as he sat up, his back to the wall and his head bowed. He had been sweating in his sleep and moving, too - his legs were entangled in the blanket, his pillows shoved aside. A nightmare, but the details were already slipping through his fingers like water.

Trying to concentrate on it only made his pain worse. Groaning, he leaned his head back against the cool wall. Should he call for help or wait until the worst of the pain subsided? He might even make it to the bathroom.

“Should I call someone, Harry?” Friday asked, still quiet, still as soft as she could. This time, it wasn’t as bad. He managed not to flinch.

“Who’s up?” Harry asked, eyes firmly closed. Blood was trickling down his face. What had he _seen?_ Something huge, a bubbling surface of diamonds, black robes. The sound of sibilant hissing, not unlike _brashtek,_ but off-

Another pulse of pain, lancing through his head. A mad laugh crawled out of his mouth and he pressed a hand over it, feeling unsettled from the urge.

Friday, he noticed, took a moment longer for her reply. “Miss Wanda and Doctor Banner are up, as well as the Vision.”

“Bruce,” he immediately said. His hands shook and he didn’t like it. “Bruce, please.” What did he _see?_

“Just a moment,” Friday said and Harry could only wait, his head split open and his hands shaking.

The urge to laugh, to feel _happy_ and _whole_ , only went away when the door to his room opened and Bruce hurried inside.

~~~

 **August 18th, 2015**  
Spinner’s End, Cokeworth

Severus didn’t wake when the pain came to him - he had already been awake, the sun not yet up in the earliest morning hours. Sleep hadn’t come easy for him in the night, what with the tender and prickling feeling running up and down his arm all day.

For weeks now the old mark had gained new colour, like a healing bruise reversed.

Staring at it now, tea forgotten on the old table, the Dark Mark looked just as it had that cursed day he’d received it, both skull and snake a stark black against his pale flesh. It burned, more akin to a fresh brand than a tattoo, and Severus wondered for one dull moment if his arm would fall off with the pain.

He almost hoped so. Maybe it would take the mark away from him, his greatest failure nothing more but a pile of ash in the end.

Only for one moment he indulged in this fantasy, his breath hitching with the force of emotions he normally wouldn’t allow to manifest. Then he snapped out of it, wand already in his hand as he stood up. They had talked about the possibility, of course - Albus had never been of the mind that the Dark Lord had truly died seventeen years ago. Vanished, yes - but not for good.

So when, a week after the disastrous third task, his mark had started to darken, Severus too had prepared for this day, as much as anyone could prepare themselves. But not like this - not this early.

Seventeen years they had their peace, brought about by the greatest tragedy of Severus’ life, and within a couple of months reality came crashing down around them.

There was no time for conjuring a mask or a more fitting robe. But then, Severus had never favoured them the way the others had. With a whisper, a silver hued doe ran off to the north and then he was gone, too, in a whirl of apparition, memories already neatly set up to fool one of the greatest Legilimens of their time.

~~~

 **August 18th, 2015**  
Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts

_Darkness. The presence of others. He sees the masks, the robes, but doesn’t react to them. Eyes on the pale creature in front of him - not the face, never the face if not invited. Not a creature._

_His Lord._

_He strides forward, past_ long blonde hair, silky, hint of mugwort, expensive silks _Lucius before dropping to his knees, ignoring the faint ache._

_“My Lord.”_

_People staring. The creature comes closer. Cold fingers touching clammy skin. Eyes meet, then he is there, slithering into Severus’ head. It takes seconds, minutes, hours,_ years _until the creature is satisfied._

_Severus doesn’t dare shake, waiting._

_There is no pain. The creature is pleased, sends him to stand with his peers. More people file in. Some fall to their knees immediately. Others pale and shiver. Two die. Severus doesn’t dare stare. Doesn’t dare look up from the shivering, kneeling men and women._

_A speech follows. Part of his mind pays attention. A speech of loyal followers - there, Bartemius Crouch Junior. Next to him another one. Pettigrew, pale and shaking, clutching a silvery arm to his chest. The hate is constrained, cold instead of hot, fueling his resolve._

_One day, he will kill this man._

_The speech continues, explaining, with grand gestures and arrogant words, the cunning of his resurrection. The ritual. The components. Father’s bones, servant’s flesh, Albus’ blood. The creature walks in front of them - barefooted, the robes loose around a tall, skinny frame. Severus concentrates on his hands - long and pale like sun-shy spiders. A yew wand twirls between the fingers - Severus remembers nightmares featuring this wand._

_Secrecy, the creature preaches, words sharp and pointed. Loyalty. He sends them away but a few. Severus stays and there the creature is. Cold fingers underneath his chin, mock-gentleness that makes his skin crawl._

_“Resume your post,” the Dark Lord says._

_Severus nods and waits and when he is dismissed, he turns..._

…

..

Albus blinked, slowly, as he returned from the memory. His eyes, previously locked with Severus’, glance down to the Potion Master’s clenched hands. He felt strangely distant for a moment, like standing beside his own body, removed from the situation he found himself in.

Voldemort, returned.

“It’s too early,” he heard himself mutter and closed his eyes for a moment, his thoughts racing through his head. Severus snorted and it was enough to focus himself, the sound of another person so close.

“I doubt he cares about our own schedules. Albus, what do we do now?”

He wanted to say that they should warn people. He wanted to draw himself up, strong and calm and with a firm plan in hand. To call on his allies, to march into the Ministry and proclaim the return of Voldemort, the grave danger Britain was in.

Looking up, he met Severus’ dark eyes and saw the strain in them, the tense line of his shoulders, the barely concealed shaking of his hands, closely fisted and at the man’s side.

“Nothing obvious for now,” he instead said, already starting to change whatever plans he’d made before. “We have no proof to bring to the public’s attention.” Worse yet, were Albus to declare Voldemort’s return, it would only endanger Severus. Unnecessarily so, even - Cornelius would never act upon Albus’ warning. Seventeen years had passed and magical Britain had become used to its peace. Already shaken up from the previous attacks, it was more likely that, without any proof, most people would prefer denial and ridicule.

Severus nodded, exhaustion clear on his face for once. Albus couldn’t help but feel a fierce pride for this man, but he tempered these emotions like he did his own fear and apprehension. A clear head was what he needed right now. Who to call forth, who to tell the truth. What to expect from the Dark Lord, now that he had a body once more. How to prepare for whatever was to come.

This was all too soon, too fast.

“I will call for the Order,” Albus decided - he needed more people in the know, people they could trust. Seventeen years of peace… his own head felt sluggish with this new, terrifying pace Voldemort had set and Albus needed to be just as fast, just as cunning, in his own approach. “And Harry-”

“He doesn’t know about him yet,” Severus told him. “Which might be the only good thing to happen today. The boy shouldn’t come back until we have a plan in place, anyway. You do have a way to contact him?”

“I do,” Albus said. Miss Granger would be swift. He didn’t like the thought of involving her any further, but she was an adult now and the most likely to reach Harry as quickly as possible.

Before he could reach for his quill to write a short note, however, a small, brown owl fluttered through the open window above Albus’ desk, greeting them with a hoot before dropping the morning paper next to his hand.

The next thing Albus heard was Severus’ violent cursing.

~~~

 _ **Bᴏʏ-Wʜᴏ-Lɪᴠᴇᴅ Rᴇᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ?**_  
Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Prophet.

_No, my dear readers, this is not a tasteless attempt to grab your interest only to let you down with naught but gossip to share! Indeed, for years now it’s not been unheard of for someone to claim to have seen the elusive child-hero, who had been kidnapped only four years after his miraculous defeat of **You-Know-Who** (more about the history of Harry Potter on page 5). Some addled minds even tried to claim to **be** Harry Potter themselves, each claim swiftly and deftly proved false once uttered! Yours truly, Rita Skeeter, had in the past enjoyed hunting for these rumours and tales, if only to provide some much-needed insight on the lies and deception and, not seldom as I can assure you, **befuddlement** of it all._

_Yet, much to my surprise, and despite the **years** gone by with no rumours at all, years after which you, my dear readers, have finally found peace despite the loss of our beloved child-hero, a new rumour has arisen, one perhaps stirred by the latest Death Eater activity **right under the Ministry’s nose,** once putting our very children in danger (more about the Triwizard Tournament on page 7), and making a laughing stock of the Ministry’s security itself (more about the Attack on the Ministry on page 10)._

_During the heartening and wondrous wedding celebration of William Weasley and Fleur Weasley née Delacour, former Beauxbatons Champion of the Triwizard Tournament (Year 2011-2012), a trusted informant of your ever-working reporter was fortunate enough to hear whispers of a young man who was spoken of as **Harry.** At first, said informant had not thought much about that - mere talk between two young women, just freshly stepped into adulthood, about other young men._

_But then, my dear readers, they heard who those young women believed this young man to be! Not just **a** Harry, a name that had become quite popular after **You-Know-Who** ’s demise, but **the** Harry, Harry Potter namely. Stunned at the incredible news that they might be overhearing, this confidential source paid strict attention to the discussion between the girls, and made sure to bring the information directly to myself as they knew that this information was so important that it must be truthfully shared with the public._

_To say I was quite shocked as I was told about this would be an understatement, for one of the young women discussing this topic was none other than Ginevra Weasley, Hogwarts Champion and winner of the latest Triwizard Tournament, who’d been one of the victims in the Death Eater attack that took place during the last task. I was, of course, sceptical - to think that any man would use the identity of that poor boy, kidnapped at such a young age, to try and curry some favour with young Miss Weasley!_

_Thankfully, I was able to investigate this newest rumour, sure that it would be an impostor, trying to get into the good graces of a young woman still pained by her traumatic experiences. To my great shock and surprise, each morsel of information and smallest hint led me to a very specific place indeed._

_I am sure, my dear readers, that many of you still remember vividly those times of uncertainty after Lord Sirius Black’s daring escape of Azkaban? His name, of course, is well-known even today - notoriously single despite his family name and ample wealth, he might be as known through his Witch Weekly features as he is from his highly illegal imprisonment itself (more about Sirius Black’s wrong incarceration and escape on page 12). But before the truth finally came to light, Sirius Black was best known for his supposed betrayal of the Potter family leading to the defeat of **You-Know-Who.** In his youth, many said him to be the late James Potter’s best friend, even. A lesser known fact I want to share with you, my dear readers, is that Sirius Black is, in fact, Godfather to Harry Potter, a title he could not claim until his prison escape, when it was tragically all too late._

_Imagine my surprise, then, when I was given the information that this impostor, this young man claiming to be Harry Potter, is, in fact, a regular visitor to Sirius Black’s homestead!_

_You hear it right, my dear readers! This reporter herself had, of course, made sure that the information was truthful. And while I can’t yet confirm the identity in question, I was able to glance at a young man approaching Lord Black’s homestead. I was astounded, for sure - if this truly was an impostor, then he was a good one. Those eyes, that jaw, the nose, the scar - after seeing a picture of the late Potters, I can only admit that this young man’s face was indeed an eerie likeness of both James and Lily Potter, the lightning bolt scar on his forehead the crowning detail of it all._

_Sadly, I was unable to talk with him directly before he vanished into the well-protected house of Lord Black. All I can say, my dear readers, is that this young man does indeed resemble our missing child-hero in age and appearance. This young man also has a connection to the Godfather of Harry Potter, enough for regular visits. This young man has also somehow convinced Miss Weasley, a smart young lady with a good reason for suspicion, of his identity._

_This reporter cannot, with good conscience, say who this young man might be - only who he claims to be. But if it should be true, dear readers, I can only say this: With the recent shortcomings of the Ministry and our esteemed Minister Fudge, it might not be a coincidence that a man claiming to be Harry Potter returns to us. After all, this year marks the first time for proven Death Eater activity as well._

~~~

“Well,” Albus said with a forced calm that made Severus want to tear his own hair out. “That is…”

“A disaster? The worst that could’ve happened? Proving me right not to trust _children_ with keeping Potter’s existence a secret?” Severus spat, his body rigid with too much energy as he stomped across the lengths of Albus’ office, ignoring the flashes of pain it sent through his body. “I knew this would happen from the moment they took him on a tour through Diagon! The werewolf even told me about a birthday party - Narcissa wrote to me about it, too! This isn’t even a surprise, what with _half of bloody Britain already in the know-”_

“Severus,” Albus interrupted him, finally putting the damnable newspaper down. “Please, calm down. We need to assume that Voldemort already knows as well - or that somebody will bring him the news this very moment.” The unmoving picture of Potter’s face (according to the Prophet due to a malfunction of the developing potions, not that Severus believed that) covered most of the first page, right underneath the giant lettering of the headline.

His anger only grew looking at the picture. A logical part of him knew that most of this wasn’t even Potter’s fault, but that part was hard to listen to when the results of teenage gossip was taking up most of the Daily Prophet’s morning edition. Add to that the persistent headache he still felt from hours of no sleep, kneeling in the cold and dark as his head was searched for the slightest incrimination by a monster he hated more than anyone else, and Severus was left with neither patience nor pity.

Still - still, and he loathed the thought alone, that he was here, after all of this, thinking of all the ways the whole situation could grow _worse yet,_ worse than the literal resurrection of the Dark Lord, away from any public notice.

“Black needs to secure Grimmauld Place - or vacate it,” Severus hissed, forcing himself to look away from Potter’s face and towards Albus. “And you need to show public interest in the story as well, as if your previous agreement with Potter never happened. All parties need to be informed as quickly as possible.”

“He will likely call upon you soon, again,” Albus said and there was worry in his eyes, if not in his voice. Another wave of anger washed through Severus’ rigid body and he didn’t bother to hide any of it.

“I know,” Severs said, teeth clenching around the words. “I will inform Minerva and Lupin. Maybe the latter has a place in mind.”

“The Fidelius might be an option.”

He almost flinched hearing the word, but he had too much self control to do it so openly. The spell had failed him once before and he wondered if he could ever trust it again. Maybe if he- but no, too risky. “Can you cast the spell and make yourself the secret keeper?”

Albus shook his head. “No, but I can teach someone else to cast it.”

“Do so,” Severus nearly snarled, still feeling revulsion just from thinking about anyone else taking that role. A prickle of his left arm had him suck in a breath, eyes closing for a moment. “I’ll use the floo.”

“Severus,” Albus said, half standing up behind his desk. Next to him, Fawkes crooned softly, probably well-aware of the kind of evil that was once again walking the earth. “Be careful.”

Severus refused to answer that as he threw the powder into the flames of Albus’ hearth. Of course he would be careful. Noone else apparently was.

~~~

 **August 18th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

When Pietro woke, Wanda was reading. That was never a good sign. Still, he stretched, rolled his shoulders and rose before saying anything, ruffling his sister’s hair before going to brush his teeth. He checked the clock as he passed - 7am, but Wanda was already dressed, her hair already brushed - her teeth too, if he knew his sister. 

He made no bones about it when he returned: “Something is worrying you.”

“Harry.” Wanda’s voice was quiet and she didn’t look up from her book. The notepad beside her was littered in notes. Some were in Sokovian, her cramped handwriting that he could make out as easily as his own but that their teachers had always despaired of. The rest was a mishmash of other languages they’d learned - even some in Mama’s Trasnian, and Pietro could only pick out a few words of that. “He had a nightmare last night,” she added, slipping her notebook into the tome to keep her place. “And Banner went to see him. When I asked, Friday said he was injured.”

Pietro frowned. “That is not good.”

“No.”

He rocked on his heels, thinking. Wanda had set her book down but she hadn’t risen yet, which meant she wanted his input. Wanted, if possible, for him to soothe her worries.

“Let us get breakfast,” he said. “And then, if Harry is not there, we can find him and ask if he is all right.”

At least some of the tension bled away from Wanda’s shoulders; her smile was not full but it was something and she stood. 

“Breakfast,” she agreed.

~~~

Harry’s head still throbbed in the morning, albeit not as much - whatever painkillers Dr Banner had found _were_ quality for something made on a backwater planet. His scar wasn’t bleeding anymore either, which was a plus, and Friday had done something to the huge glass windows of the room, not just ensuring the outside was reflective so no one could see in, but seemingly… dimming them, so the light couldn’t get through as much.

He was stirred from his thoughts by a knock on the door and he glanced up to the camera he knew hid Friday.

“Miss and Mr Maximoff,” Friday said promptly. “Miss Maximoff noticed your distress last night and asked if anything was the matter.”

And now she was feeling nosy. Great.

But…

He remembered a time when he would wake up from his dreams, his arms or chest scratched bloody - injuries he had dealt himself. But Bruce had checked his scar and Harry had done the same when he could look at a mirror without tearing up and neither of them had found any indication of self-harm. Just the scar, torn open like a fresh cut and blood dribbling out of it.

Harry had the terrible feeling that the nightmare was _important_ somehow, but the few pieces he could remember were too disjointed and made no sense.

“Come in,” he called. Better to milk nosy concern for the help he needed than to ignore what help he had at his side. Maximoff-Mr kept to himself, but Maximoff-Miss seemed as soft-hearted as Mantis at times.

And she could dredge up lost memories.

The twins entered the room with some hesitation. Wanda looked worried, not even trying to hide it. Her brother, not so much. Curious, Harry would guess, eyes flickering here and there to take in the room Bruce had put Harry in before settling on him.

Harry wondered if he should put on a shirt or something, but in the end didn’t bother with it as he sat up on the too-narrow bed. “Hey,” he greeted them and kept his voice casual. It didn’t hide the roughness of it. “I didn’t wake you up last night, did I?”

His lips tugged up when he saw the way his blasé question surprised them. Not much - they were annoyingly composed most of the time. But Wanda’s eyes widened just a fraction and Pietro shifted his stance just a bit, and Harry wasn’t _blind,_ not when often the smallest change of a person’s body language was the only warning he got.

“We wanted to make sure you were alright,” Wanda finally said. Harry nodded once before pointing at the single visitor’s chair in the room.

“Mostly,” he said, knowing that his scar still looked red and puffy and inflamed. Of all the things on his body to start bleeding, it had to be the scar - the very same that Dumbledore had explained to him as a curse scar.

It really couldn’t be helped. Idly, Harry scratched his chest with one hand where an implant rested just underneath the skin, a curved, silvery line tracing the plates as the only visible reminder.

Pietro followed the motion of his hand and Harry knew he was likely taking in the scars he had.

“I had a nightmare last night,” he said, decision made, and leant a bit forward, his attention back on Wanda alone. “But I don’t remember most of it. Can you help me with that?”

She stared at him, clearly startled. 

“You can look in my head, right? You did it before, with my memories-”

“Yes,” Pietro said, seemingly not caring about interrupting him. Harry glanced up. “She can. Dreams are just a different kind of memory, Wanda can do that.”

_“Pietro-”_

“He wants help. You want to help. So _help.”_

Like it was that easy. Like it was so quickly done. But Harry liked the way this twin thought, the uncomplicated solution he offered. He grinned at him, but Pietro didn’t react.

It took a wink to make him smile.

Thankfully, Wanda didn’t seem conflicted. Harry had had years to spot people looking conflicted and people trying to hide it and that wasn’t the expression on Wanda’s face as she stared at him. If anything, she looked surprised.

“You are _sure?”_ she asked, moving to sit on a chair beside him. “Dreams are not memories, they are- they are disjointed and messy, they are even more likely to drag in other memories than actual memories usually are.”

“So stop as soon as it’s done,” he replied. “I- I need to know what it is.” And fuck, he remembered too well the stuff he’d seen with her in his head. More of that wouldn’t be nice at all, but you always had to pay some kind of price.

Harry knew the shit he’d gone through. Remembered it clearly, didn’t dare to forget. He could live through it. Sharing with Wanda was harder, but she’d seen some already. Better her than anyone else.

Wanda bit her lip, uncertain but not doubtful. “All right.” Her voice, at least, was even and steady. “Like last time, yes? Focus on what you can remember of it...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 5606
> 
> AN: Sneaky Rita being sneaky - anonymous source, riiight!  
> Next chapter, we'll have a lot of quality time from Lord Voldemort's PoV!


	19. This Corrosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Corrosion - The Sisters of Mercy
> 
> Harry New Years and sorry for the long wait! I enjoyed a small Christmas with my mother and a very calm NYE with my grandparents and afterwards chipped away at this chapter. Like pulling teeth, I tell you. Never again, Voldemort, never again.
> 
> Anyways, stay safe! Keep yourself healthy and whole and if you live in a place that is currently in upheaval, I hope this'll provide even just a moment's distraction from all the shit going down.

**October 31st, 1998**  
Godric’s Hollow

When Voldemort arrived in Godric’s Hollow, the quaint little town was already asleep. Whatever activities had gone on during the evening - little Muggle children walking around for candy and baked goods, dressed in cheap costumes that made a mockery of the wizarding world - it had long ceased and the villagers were returned to the relative safety and warmth of their houses. Only a few lights, dimmed through curtains, were still visible as he walked the streets.

It would be easy to set them all aflame and make an example for the world to see. Muggles and wizards living together in such close quarters - it was disgusting. Maybe he would, when he was finished with the Potters. The night was still young enough, he might very well call some of his Death Eaters to him and let them have some fun.

First, though, would be his very special target. Killing children wasn’t usually very appealing to the Dark Lord - he favoured those who could at least pretend to fight back. If the mood struck, Voldemort was known to play with his chosen victims, make them think they could still get away with their lives before striking them down. It made for a good pastime, especially when he had onlookers, those who could later spread the news of his power. The young and helpless didn’t have the Lord’s pity, they simply weren’t much of a bother in the first place. It was almost too easy to get rid of them.

But this one was special. From the moment he’d heard the prophecy from young Severus’ lips, he knew that he’d have to do it himself and kill the child with the potential to become dangerous to him. It was not a matter of how much Voldemort believed the prophecy of a young seer; others had heard it, too, and they did believe in it, at which point it became a necessity. The child had to die, and it had to die from his hands alone.

The house looked as unremarkable as any other house of this town. Small, quaint, made for one family alone with a bit of greenery at the front and a small garden at the back. Slate tiles for a roof, the outside walls painted white to match the little fence and gate. Tight-packed gravel formed a narrow path from the gate to the front door. The mudblood’s influence showed - Voldemort had never thought he’d see a Potter waste away in this neighbourhood.

Lips curling in distaste, his eyes lingered on the door and the darkened windows. They probably felt secure here, hidden behind spells and secrecy. The curl turned into a thin smile and sweet anticipation bloomed; Voldemort tried to imagine their terrified faces the moment they realized they’d been betrayed. It was one of the few reasons the rat was still alive - his relationship with the Potters and Sirius Black was _useful,_ not only for the pain a break will cause, but also for… _this_. This very opportunity.

It was the very reason why Voldemort had granted young Severus’ foolish wish. Let the woman live to tell the tale. After tonight, trust would be a rare commodity within the Order. Smile stretching even wider, he finally moved on, opening the gate even while he pointed his wand to the sky above the house.

 _“Morsmordre,”_ he intoned, not caring about who could hear or see him. The moment the skull and snake took form in the air, it would already be too late to flee.

Then he pointed his wand at the offending door and gave it a flick. The wood burst open, the lock mangled beyond repair. He could see someone in the corridor, in front of the stairs leading to the second floor. He was yelling, but Voldemort only saw the lack of a wand in the man’s hand and sighed in disappointment.

 _“Avada Kedavra,”_ he said and meant _useless,_ meant _weak._ No fight for the Dark Lord to enjoy, no victory to taunt his enemies with. The man, James Potter, dropped dead to the floor and Voldemort walked over the corpse and up the stairs. He could hear activity from above, could hear the crying of a child and the hush of a woman. The mudblood, then, and the boy.

She, like her dead husband, had no wand in hand when he opened the door to the child’s room. Kneeling on the floor, the boy held behind her back, she looked up to meet Voldemort’s red eyes. What Severus saw in her, he could not name - just another pretty face of many he’d seen in his life, the only importance of her was the child she’d birthed. But ah, his servant had asked and it was not without merit, so he didn’t kill her outright.

“Not Harry, not Harry, _please not Harry!”_ The mewling of a defenceless kitten. It reached Voldemort’s ears, but no more than that. Already, irritation was crawling up and down his spine.

“Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside now.” This would be her chance - her son for her life. So naturally, the lesser mudblood that she was, stupidity was her choice.

“Not Harry, please! Take me, kill me instead-”

As if that would move him to show mercy to the boy. No, his fate had been signed since the day the Trelawney woman had uttered her prophecy. Killed by fate; it was oddly poetic, even to Voldemort.

When her body dropped, head lolling to the side and green eyes familiarly empty, Voldemort took a moment to contemplate the image: the mother, laid out in death, red hair spilling on the floor like blood for all that his favourite curse did not harm the body. And behind, with the very same eyes but his hair as dark as his father’s, the boy. Young, a toddler of a year and a few months, without any understanding besides that his mother was unmoving. Untouched, innocent, pudgy hands clinging to the fabric of the mother’s nightshirt.

Voldemort saw the distress and the gathering tears and sighed. Stepped closer, eyes set on the boy, already bored with it all. Burning down the town might just be thrill enough to make this little jaunt worth his time.

“Avada Kedavra,” he said and the world exploded.

~~~

There was pain, and then there was _pain._ The latter wasn’t a physical ache; at this point, Voldemort was sure he couldn’t feel anything physical no matter how hard he tried. Whatever made up the human soul and bound it to existence was now pulling at his frayed seams. It was a tug-of-war of powers Voldemort barely understood even decades after taking his first step of utilizing them. He was dead, or at least his body was - whatever was left would’ve been scattered by the winds by now. His soul, however, remained, by the mercy of other brilliant minds that had come before Voldemort, and the naivety of one Professor Slughorn.

But that, existence in its raw form, came with a price. Voldemort had chipped away at his immortal soul, anchored himself to the plane of the living, but he was no ghost, no apparition - he was a wraith, something that shouldn’t exist, and the world around him knew. Everything, even Voldemort himself, knew that. It fought him constantly, pulled and tugged and pushed him closer to the afterlife, but his anchors held strong. So instead, it was what was left of Voldemort that got stretched taut between the forces.

It was enough to burn out the last dredges of sanity he’d held on to in his life after delving into the darkest of arts and magic.

Days formed into weeks and months and years and the smidgen of his being fled Britain, because this he still knew: He wasn’t dead, but he was weak and vulnerable. Bright minds might have paved his way to immortality, but brighter minds still could devise a way to catch and bind him. There was no trust left between him and those he’d called his servants, not when all he could do was cling to this non-life he’d left, cling and wait for something to happen.

So he fled and followed a now-distant memory that wasn’t anchored on the isle. Without a physical body, the physical world held rules he no longer needed to obey. Distance was but a number he needn’t care about; in the blink of an eye, in the span of years, of days, of nothing he could name, the wraith who was once Voldemort settled in a foreign land he hadn’t visited since he had been young and _alive._ There, in the midst of a forest, nestled within rotting wood, was the hiding place that had once held one of his treasures. It would do; it _had_ to do. Without a body, other necessities stopped mattering, but the echo of the familiar magic was strangely soothing. He’d left enough hints for those still loyal to follow, so hiding away from prying eyes was the last task up to him.

They’d find him, Voldemort thought, and they’d revive him. He only had to wait until then and not give in to the temptation of the pull. He’d not have peace. He’d not die fully. Voldemort knew pain and this, he’d endure.

But when time and distance lose their importance, a day might stretch into eternity. Voldemort settled, hidden beneath dying branches, as England recovered from his chokehold. Trials were held. More people died before things started to fully calm down. An innocent man was banished to Azkaban. Neville Longbottom became an orphan. Unaware of these far-away changes, Voldemort waited.

Years passed. Only the seasons gave Voldemort some inkling of how much time really went by. The pain of existing became all he knew, and only the memories of his treasures kept him from succumbing to the sweet call of afterlife.

 _Come,_ the pull sang in his very being, familiar and alien in the same breath. _Come, child. Rest. What is left that holds you?_

Everything, he’d say if only he had a mouth and a tongue and lungs to form the words. Would’ve snarled them, shouted them, whispered them in icy anger. Everything was there, just beyond his grasp.

So he waited for seventeen years.

~~~

 **May 30th, 2015**  
Albania

As a rule, Lord Voldemort did not think about his past. He was aware of his origins, remembered once being called Tom Riddle. But he’d long since fashioned himself a life better suited to his needs and ambitions. Tom Riddle had been a mere mortal, weak and vulnerable; a Half-Blood, a half-person, hated by one side of society and side-eyed by the other.

But when you lack a body, the mind is all that’s left. Time lost its definition as he waited, so what else was there to do to distract himself from the constant pull and push on his very being? The pain was constant, the sweet call of release a whisper to catch him off-guard whenever he concentrated too much on it. His memories, no matter how much he loathed them, were the only way to escape all of that for short moments, even as they scattered and mixed in unfamiliar patterns.

 _Here was a moment of death and destruction, laid out by his own hands. A conductor of death, the harbinger of fear for those who dared to oppose him: Lord Voldemort as he brought the Aurors to their knees. He’d always been good at that - to make people truly_ despair. _Britain would be his. Had been his, almost, but then-_

_Bombs. He knew the sirens as well as his own heartbeat. With thirteen years already suffered through this life, Tom Riddle felt more apathy than fear at this point, huddled together with snivelling children and his tormentors alike, the matrons for once in their lives trying to be the shield from all harm for even him. Buildings collapsed. People died. London was aflame and no bunker had space left for a bunch of unwanted orphans. But now there would be more of those; how many parents were dead already? Tom felt a pang of sympathy before his selfish side snapped at it. More mouths to feed, more children to stare and judge when he came back for summer, the matrons’ patience thin and harsh words ready and he’d still be here, because they’d already left him with the Muggles during the Blitz and a lack of food would not move them any more than a threat to his life and-_

_Red hair spilling on the floor like blood, green eyes lifeless. The woman was dead, and so was the husband. Only the boy remained. It was so easy to lift his wand and to feel the disregard for human life. He had killed so many before this night, had killed two people in this house already - what more was a mere child? He’d felt_ bored _, uttering the two words he knew best. Bored, when the world fell apart around him, and with it his body and sanity-_

Pain. Pain, pain, _pain_ when he came back from his own memories. How long has he waited? Days? Weeks? Years? The forest was unchanging, for all that there were some new trees around and some others missing. Or the other way around - he wouldn’t know. But something was new. Something changed, enough to add a feeling of suspense to the atmosphere of the forest. Critters and birds have long since given up on this part of it, didn’t dare to come closer.

Only the snake would come to visit him. But it was not her that crept closer. There was a man, and to his feet a rat. Darkness was around the wraith that had once been Tom Riddle and then the Dark Lord Voldemort. And the wraith remembered the face of the man. He’d been young, once. The wraith remembered being Voldemort and how he’d marked the man as his.

Years he’d waited, then, judging by the haggard expression on young Barty’s face. Decades, the eyes spoke, and for the first time since hiding away, anger drove the pain away.

“Master,” young Barty whispered and fell to his knees. “Master,” the rat-turned-traitor stuttered but kneeled just the same.

The wraith watched and then hissed from the darkness of the hollow tree. As always, she was quick to hiss in return, her slithering body strong as she coiled around his astral form.

_“Finally.”_

~~~

The homunculus they fashioned for him was pathetic. The form of a small child, lacking in power and means to function independently, grated on Voldemort’s mind. But it was a body nonetheless, a physical presence he’d so far lacked.

Seventeen years he’d waited, and now he had to be nursed in the arms of Peter Pettigrew, who couldn’t hide his disgust as it warred with whatever remained of his loyalty. But the man-rat, no matter how pathetic, did what he was told and took care of the Lord he’d once pledged his life to; he carried him and warmed and fed and cleaned his Master, he was _there_ in a way most of Voldemort’s servants weren’t in these weeks of frailty.

Barty, however, didn’t show any disgust towards this artificial form. His reverence burned as brightly as before; maybe even brighter still. His fate, shared the very night Voldemort could form the question with his new lips, had been a gruesome one: here his servant was, ready to face Azkaban in the name of his Master, put into chains of magic and obscurity. Tom Riddle hadn’t been the only boy betrayed by his own father, and that, at least, Voldemort could understand.

But for seventeen years, the constant pull of afterlife had frayed his mind. This man-made body he inhibited lacked a brain, leaving his mind still untethered to the mortal plane. Rage came swiftly, more than it ever had. He wanted out, and he wanted blood.

He wanted the boy to be the sacrifice for this new start, and when it became clear that the boy would not be available, that Barty and Pettigrew had already tried to pry it out from Dumbledore, his anger consumed him in a way that would’ve frightened him had he still the capacity to feel afraid at all.

“The boy!” he’d scream, tiny fists shaking as he tried to summon more power to this frail body. “It has to be the boy!”

“The boy is lost, my Lord,” Barty would say, sounding pained and ashamed as he should. What use was a servant who couldn’t even complete a task as simple as finding one single child? “Nobody knows where he is. He’s been lost for a decade and more, my Lord.”

It took days for the anger to subside and it left him exhausted and empty. Apathy followed, and then more rage, until finally, Voldemort accepted it. So the boy was gone; hopefully, he was dead. If not, he’d find the wretch once he had gained a real body. He’d not be as incompetent as his servants; for all their loyalty, they were still _lesser,_ after all. But for a body to be made, one that would suit his needs, Voldemort still needed the blood. Another enemy, then. The boy would’ve been symbolic, after what he’d done to him.

“Dumbledore,” he finally spat, eyes aglow with malice for even thinking the name. Dumbledore, who’d never stopped being his enemy ever since Tom Riddle had dared to hope and the man had set his world aflame instead. “If I can’t have the boy’s blood, I’ll have hiss _ss.”_

Pettigrew looked up and Barty looked down and their eyes met across Voldemort’s too-small body. Then, slowly, Barty smiled, an unhinged gleam in his eyes. “Yes, Master,” he said and for a moment he looked as young and eager as he had in Voldemort’s memories.

~~~

 **August 18th, 2015**  
Little Hangleton

Pettigrew carried him towards the bubbling cauldron. They could’ve set it up at Malfoy Manor after Barty had pulled Lucius Malfoy into their ploy. Voldemort would have to remember to punish the man in some way, after his resurrection - the disgust on his pale face had been all too clear when he looked down on the frail, little homunculus body of his Master. But instead of the luxurious security of the Manor, Voldemort had insisted on doing it here, right next to the grave of his worthless father, the man he’d killed himself when he was only sixteen. He remembered that day clearly, now, relishing in it even.

With him, he’d buried his identity as Tom Riddle, even when he went on to use it as a mask for years to come.

In front of them, the cauldron stood, a bright fire lit underneath and the liquid boiling inside. It had taken longer than Voldemort cared for to brew this special potion, what with his potioneer missing from his side. Not for much longer, though - soon he’d be able to call on all of his servants, both loyal and traitorous. In his anticipation, his body started to squirm in the man-rat’s arms.

“Faster,” he hissed, eyes squinted against the bright fire. The night was old, but morning was still a couple of hours off. He knew they had plenty of time, but the urge to stand on his own feet again was stronger than the small amount of patience left in his torn mind.

He could feel Pettigrew swallow as he neared the cauldron. Could feel the way his arms gripped him tighter for just a moment before holding him out. Barty was standing close-by, watching, eagerness and worry etched onto his too-old face.

And then he was dropped into the boiling liquid, and for a second time in Voldemort’s life, pain was all he knew. Fire was around him and inside him, the potion that drowned him filled with it.

_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son... _Voldemort thought. Outside the cauldron, unbeknownst to him, Pettigrew recited the same, drawing dust from his father’s grave to add to the cauldron.__

__The fire changed and warped and died out and with it went the pain. The world turned a poisonous shade of blue as Voldemort’s fake body slowly dissolved in it._ _

__And yet, Voldemort continued his silent litany, echoed by his servant outside. _Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master...__ _

__Something fell into the cauldron, the splash reverberating through the liquid. What was left of Voldemort’s eyes followed the cut-off hand, but it disintegrated before it could join him at the bottom of the cauldron. Blue turned red like blood and rage and the pain returned with a vengeance. Voldemort screamed, unheard and unseen._ _

___Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!_ _ _

__An explosion of white. Nothing else existed for a few, precious moments. There was no sound, no sight, no touch, no taste - only Voldemort and the infinite expanse of nothing. Eternities passed as he was put together, piece by piece as the ancient magic worked against time and death and everything in between._ _

__Then, the world returned in a crash of senses and memories and awareness. Steam rose around him but did not choke him. The iron of the cauldron touched his skin with heat but did not burn him. There were fire and poison in his veins but they strengthened him, a vigour he’d long forgotten existed rushing through his body._ _

___His_ body, naked and long-limbed and pale-skinned but _his._ Opening his eyes, Voldemort stood, marvelling at the strength in his legs and the clarity of his eyes._ _

__In front of him, Pettigrew and Barty stood, the one gripping the stump of his arms as he tried not to sob, the other holding his robes and his wand with reverence. He met both of them with eyes of his own, the cauldron breaking apart as he stepped out of it. Without a prompt, Barty was there and Voldemort relished the sensation of silk over his bare skin. When he touched his wand, an old and familiar kind of warmth spread throughout his body and a smile stretched his lips._ _

__He had returned._ _

__…_ _

__.._ _

__~~~_ _

__On the other side of the world, three people sat together in a small infirmary room. Two of them held each other’s hands without noticing it - they were staring at each other’s eyes as red danced across the temple of one of them and at the fingertips of the other. The third was watching them, close-by and body tense, as the minutes went by._ _

__Wanda was the first to move away, blinking slowly even as confusion spread over her face. Pietro, who’d been watching Harry for a change, quickly moved forward and put one hand on her shoulder. He could feel her anxiety through their bond - his touch soothed only parts of it._ _

__“What was it?” he asked. Harry, too, was blinking slowly now._ _

__“Not a dream,” Wanda said and Pietro wished he could smooth the wrinkle between her brows somehow. He shot Harry a half-hearted glare, but the younger man didn’t so much as look at them. His eyes were far-away, his face serious and contemplating. He looked almost annoyed, too, his lips twisted downwards._ _

__“I think I know who that was,” Harry finally said with a grimace, rubbing his face but avoiding his still-red scar. “Fuck.”_ _

__Wanda and Pietro exchanged a look. “Harry?” his twin asked, reaching out again to grasp Harry’s free hand. He let her, even when he tensed for a moment._ _

__Pietro huffed and sat down on his chair, decidedly not looking at them holding hands._ _

__“I’m fine, just- I need to call someone. This isn’t good.”_ _

__“What’s not good?” Pietro asked, patience thinning drastically in the span of just a few seconds. “What’s this about?”_ _

__Wanda hesitated, and Pietro knew why. They might not have any secrets between themselves, but his sister would not share those of others unless it could prove a threat to them. He might be able to glean some small part of it - but details Wanda kept. Pietro still bristled slightly, now fully glaring at Harry who was watching him, one hand clasped in front of his mouth, shoulders hunched and upper body slouched forward._ _

__The bright ceiling lights reflected harshly where metal cut sharp lines through his skin and the sight made Pietro feel itchy and uncomfortable. Someone had cut him open, repeatedly, and Pietro remembered with harsh clarity that Harry was, despite his more mature looks, still only eighteen._ _

__“We’re not going to use this against you,” he blurted out, but he wasn’t any less honest for it._ _

__Harry hummed and rubbed his temples, eyes sliding away from Pietro towards Wanda before he shrugged. “Can you show him?” he asked and something tight in Pietro’s chest uncoiled and relaxed._ _

__It was back in full force after Wanda pulled him into her mind. The scene was a nightmarish one - a graveyard, a cauldron, the fire and colours and the faux emotions and feelings, like echoes of real ones, they all created a deeply disturbing picture. Worst was the feeling of his own self as he watched this - as if he was in a body too small and _wrong wrong wrong,_ until the blinding white lessened and the memory ended._ _

__Pietro felt sick to his stomach, no longer wondering why both Wanda and Harry had been so quiet right after watching this. “What the _fuck,”_ he said forcefully and Harry let out a bark of laughter, as unamused as the nausea churning in Pietro’s stomach._ _

__And then the laughter cut off and with a gasp, Harry bent forward, hands pressed against his scar as his muscles visibly tensed. Wanda, sitting on the bed as well, flinched, eyes wide as she reached out for him. Pietro was there in a heartbeat, watching with horror as blood stained Harry’s fingers and the mercenary started to scream with rage._ _

__The lights above exploded, as did the reinforced windows. Loose items were flung around and amidst the screams and the chaos, the multitude of alarms going off through the building, of Pietro fighting to keep standing, Wanda reached out and got a hold of Harry’s head, scarlet flowing out of her fingertips._ _

__~~~_ _

__**August 18th, 2015**  
Malfoy Manor_ _

__On the other side of the world, the Dark Lord Voldemort was destroying the parlour of Lucius Malfoy’s home, a house-elf dead on the floor. The Daily Prophet, together with a number of antiques, had already been reduced to ashes._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 4496
> 
> With this chapter, I raised the rating of this fic since I foresee a bit more violence in the future.


	20. Thriller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thriller - Michael Jackson
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful **EssayOfThoughts** and **cb3**! They're both very patient with my lazy bum and regularly shame me with their insights and their really fast edit-work. I'd probably live somewhere in a ditch without them, so many hearts for them pls!

**August 18th, 2015**  
Avengers Compound

The twins left the room - probably to go and get someone to clean up the mess. At least Friday had stopped the alarm. With a bit of luck, Harry wouldn’t have to deal with some of the others storming the infirmary, asking questions he couldn’t answer.

And then his phone rang.

Ginny’s frantic call was the first to come through. She told Harry of the article and that Grimmauld Place wasn’t safe anymore. She’d also apologized a lot until he told her to shut up. They were a soft people, those wizards and witches, not used to the possibilities of spies; he didn’t blame her, even when it rankled that one of his bargaining chips was lost.

Hermione was next, calling in Dumbledore’s name. “He says it’s urgent, Harry. About your agreement, but he wouldn’t tell me more.”

“That’s fine,” Harry replied. It wasn’t hard to guess what the old Headmaster wanted to talk about. How he knew so fast was what had Harry curious in the first place. “I can be there in an hour. Where does he want to meet up?”

“Hogwarts. Should I…”

“You have to work, don’t you?” Without much thought, he touched his forehead. The blood on his scar wasn’t even dry yet and even a bit of pressure hurt. “I’m fine. If you want to send someone, I won’t mind Sirius being there, I guess?”

“I reckon he’ll be there anyway, but I’ll ask him. If this is just about the Daily Prophet-”

“Eh. Doubt that.” It wouldn’t be half as urgent just from an article, even if it exposed his continued existence. But after two painful visions, the urgency didn’t look like a coincidence at all. Especially not when Dumbledore wanted to talk about him about their deal, which had included a possible handling of terrorists that might be after Harry’s ass. “Anyway, I’d better get ready now. Thanks for the call.”

Ending the call, Harry let out a sigh and suppressed the urge to touch his scar. Heat radiated out from it, which got really old really fast. Maybe staying here wasn’t worth it at all and the thought of just packing his things and flying off to his family became rapidly more attractive.

“Friday, can you tell Tony that I’m off again? Might take a bit longer, couple of days or something like that.”

“Of course, Harry,” the AI said and after a moment added: “Boss asks if you need him.”

Where Harry was uncertain how well he knew the twins, he didn’t have the same hesitation with Tony Stark. The man was genuinely likeable. He’d do good on a ship like the Quadrant and his humour fitted well against his own. So he was tempted to say _yes, please come._

Like he needed the help or a friend to hold his hand.

The thought made him scoff under his breath as he swung his legs off the bed, quickly making his way over to the little bathroom attached to the infirmary. “I’ll be fine,” he told Friday and frowned at his face in the mirror. The blood was starting to crust on his skin. “Sirius is coming, too.”

“If you’re sure, Harry.” She really had the disapproving tone down to perfection, huh. “Boss says to be careful, and if you have the time he wants more samples from the Weasley shop. For allegedly innocent reasons.” A pause, then: “Please don’t bring any explosives, Harry.”

“I promise nothing, Friday,” was his solemn reply as he started to wash the blood off his inflamed scar. He was almost finished when he heard Wanda’s return, her soft voice mingling with that of a very worried Captain Rogers.

~~~

 **August 18th, 2015**  
Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts

Albus remembered Severus’ face when the man had told him about Harry’s spaceship. The word felt foreign on his tongue and the concept seemed implausible to him even after an explanation and his own tentative research into that matter. He knew that the boy used this vehicle to travel from America to Britain, and fast. He’d seen it on an enchanted map once. Still, to think that without magic, such fast travel was possible…

An hour, Miss Granger had said when Fawkes had returned to him. Just an hour for Harry to come to Hogwarts. It left Albus with surprisingly little time. Sirius had just made it to the castle himself, using the floo in Albus’ office. Severus was still gone.

“I feel old,” Sirius said, standing beside the Headmaster in front of the castle’s large oak doors. Sprawled out in front of them were the grounds of Hogwarts, the gates small at this distance and nestled close to the forest’s edge. On their right was the Black Lake, the occasional rippling indicating that the giant squid was close to the surface today. The tension Albus felt was at odds with the peaceful picture and he found himself agreeing with the other man.

“The young won’t wait for us, Sirius,” Albus replied evenly. Half-formed plans and fledgling ideas filled his thoughts, of old Order members and possible candidates, of properties they could use, of rumours to follow. It was so little after just a few hours since Voldemort had risen again. Quietly, in a small little town.

Nothing had burned yet, but then Albus didn’t think it would come to that quite so early. The timer had just started counting down and Albus hoped that the enemy would take their time to regroup and give them a chance to collect themselves.

Sirius heard it sooner than him: a low hum in the air coming closer and closer. Albus looked up, though he saw nothing in the sky but the slightest ripple of light. What he did see, however, was the way the trees moved as if a wind came down upon them, branches and leaves shaking wildly and pressing down in concentric waves. A chill ran down his spine, but Sirius was leaning forward instead, an eager look on his face.

“Is that him?”

“Yeah, I think so. It sounds like him, anyway. Vibrating in your chest.”

It was an apt description of what Albus felt. As if the sound of the invisible machines were too low to hear properly, yet powerful enough to move his entire body. Pressing a hand to his chest, Albus scanned the air again. This time, his eyes caught more than just a play of light: whatever machine from space had lent the ship invisibility stopped its work and revealed the whole thing in all of its glory, ready to land.

It was marvellous, for all that it was strange and alien to the Headmaster. Like a bird of prey, with shining wings and bright-blue fire underneath, all metal and sharp enough to cut the sky. _Yes,_ he thought as he watched the vehicle land. _I can see this fly between stars._

The landing was surprisingly soft for a thing so big. Even next to Hogwarts, it didn’t lose any of its splendour, dwarfing Hagrid’s hut in the background with ease. Sirius started to jog towards it when a ramp opened, thus the first to greet his godson the moment the boy jumped out of the opening. Albus moved more leisurely, taking advantage of the small reunion to feast his eyes a bit longer on the boy’s ship.

“You like her?” Harry asked, a knowing look to his eyes when they met in the middle. “She’s gorgeous, yes? Name’s the Downfall, I hope it’s okay for me to park here?”

“We’re the only ones currently in use of the school, Harry. It won’t be a bother.” The smile forming on Albus’ lips froze for a moment when he took a look at his guest. The dark shadows underneath Harry’s eyes were familiar if a bit more pronounced. The reddish skin around his scar, inflamed and painful-looking, however, was new and worrisome. “Have you eaten yet? We can talk over tea.”

Not much later the three found themselves sitting in the Great Hall where the house elves provided them with plenty of food and tea: Bite-sized sandwiches with watercress and cream cheese, smoked salmon and horseradish, cured ham and cheeses; fresh buns stuffed with bacon and apple butter; rich pear jam on crisp puff pastries. They never slouched when students lived in the castle, but during the summer, when only the Headmaster and a couple of teachers remained in Hogwarts, the house elves seemed to go all out on their cooking, as if to make up for the smaller number of dishes.

Harry seemed to enjoy himself greatly, as he ever did when he ate in the castle. He didn’t, however, wait for long until he gave Albus a long and searching look, putting down a half-finished pastry and shaking the crumbs off his fingers. “Voldemort is back,” he said and sent poor Sirius into a coughing fit.

To be fair, Albus had just been lucky he wasn’t chewing on anything, or else he’d be coughing as well. “You know already,” he said instead, aware how faint his voice sounded. It took him a moment to regain his composure - this made it a bit easier to explain their situation, but at the same time he worried about the implications. “Might I ask how?”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Sirius added, face pale and sharp eyes focussed on his godson who simply shrugged at the worry on Sirius’ face.

“I woke up in the middle of the night, scar bleeding,” he said. Albus immediately looked up, taking in the redness of the skin and the swelling around the scar. Something cold and dreadful weighted down his shoulders, clenching around his heart, only worsening when Harry continued. “I dreamt something. Or, well, it wasn’t really a dream. It was pretty weird…”

And still he continued, fiddling with his food as he told Albus about the vision he had, of drowning in bright and fiery liquids, of hearing voices from beyond, of the blood and the flesh and finally, how he felt like growing, until he could climb out of the metal bowl. He spoke of two men, a tall one he knew as ‘Barty’ and a short, bleeding one he could name as ‘Pettigrew’ (Sirius growled at the name and Albus felt so weary, so tired, so _fearful_ for this young man in front of him, who’d seen things he shouldn’t have, from a perspective that worried Albus more than anything else).

“And then I grabbed this wand and that’s that,” Harry said with a grim expression, brows furrowed and jaw tense. His gaze had dropped towards his plate where he smeared pear jam around with his fork, but now it snapped back up, meeting Albus’ calculating eyes with his own. “So, Headmaster. Anything you can add to that? Because I’ve gotta wonder what kind of information network you have if you know about this already.”

Sirius very nearly jumped up. “Could we not talk about how you have _visions_ of him before that?” the man asked, clearly disturbed by the very notion. “That’s not something that should happen, right?”

“It is something we shall look into with great care, Sirius,” Albus said before Harry could even get a word out. “But curse scars and their effects aren’t well-researched as it is. Right now we should focus on what information we have, what the situation is for us and how to proceed.” His words calmed down at least the boy; Sirius scoffed and scowled. “Now, Harry: I will trust you with this, because I doubt that you’ll ever come into the situation in which you will join Voldemort. Not because I know you that well,” he added with a small smile. “But I know Voldemort, and I know that he won’t rest until he can kill you. Nobody knows why, but as an infant you put an end to his reign of terror, and that is not something he will forget easily.”

“Sounds about right,” Harry said and where Sirius looked highly offended on his behalf, Harry himself didn’t even comment on it further. “I guess you still want to work with me, then?”

“I fear I don’t have much of a choice. You will be a key figure, even more so than we discussed in our previous meeting. The-Boy-Who-Lived is a title everyone in Britain knows and many still put a lot of importance on it, even after all these years. Only a small number of people know about the resurrection that happened today and with the current political climate, it is very likely that denial will be the only reception we get, should we attempt to make this information public. Your name and your existence, however…”

“Got out in an article just today as well,” Harry ended the sentence with a wry smile. The humour didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s some coincidence.”

Albus inclined his head without putting any of his thoughts into words: how he didn’t think that it was coincidence, but fate; how lucky they all were that the article didn’t come out a day sooner; that there would’ve been a hunt for the boy had Voldemort known; that like this, at least Harry’s blood was still untouched, untainted by the resurrection.

Instead, he said: “It is. And it’ll likely draw his attention. We must make use of it now and prove that you are who you claim to be: Harry Potter.”

“I’ll help with that,” Sirius said and leant forward, eager to rejoin the discussion. “Albus has the bigger sway over the public, but people know I’m your godfather.”

Harry didn’t look very pleased with the plan, but he sighed and nodded along. “And what about, you know, finding and killing Voldemort?” He then asked because of course there was no day spent with the boy in which he didn’t remind Albus of his occupation. It sent a chill down his spine and he wondered just how one had to grow up to speak about murder so easily, no matter the recipient.

“We cannot go public with his return, not until we can do so with undeniable proof,” Albus repeated. “But during the first war, there were people willing to fight him. The Order of the Phoenix. I’ve already sent out a message for its old members and we’ll continue to recruit those trustworthy and able. I’d like to invite you, Harry, as per our agreement. Although, with this new threat, I am open to renegotiating the specific terms with you.”

“It’s literally just one more guy,” Harry said with all the innocence of someone who hadn’t lived through the horrors of Voldemort’s first war. “I think we’re fine with that. The only additional thing I want is to know why my scar’s acting up.”

And wasn’t that a question Albus desperately wanted an answer to, as well?

~~~

 **August 20th, 2015**  
The Daily Prophet Main Office, London

One of the lesser-known offshoots of Diagon Alley was Profession Alley, which was accessible on the left-hand side of Gringotts, right between Sturgeon’s Sensible Shoes and Ulfson’s Second-Hand Broom Supplies.

Profession Alley actually was the _oldest_ part of the whole Diagon complex, built far before the more popular Diagon Alley and all its shops were added. Its purpose, however, was still the same: more than twenty businesses of magical Britain ran their productions here. It was close to the Ministry and now closer to the shops that needed supplying; it was in the middle of London, and thus easy to access; most importantly, however, was the fact that Profession Alley was the street with the better protections, despite the fame of the newer Diagon Alley.

One of them and arguably the most practical one was a complicated array of silencing charms strong enough to keep all sounds made in Profession Alley firmly _inside._

Case in point: when Rita Skeeter found out that that damnable Leopold Hickinbottom had been invited to a private interview with Albus Dumbledore (and consequently written a three-page-long article about _Harry Potter, which was her story!),_ her scream had been audible inside the main offices of the Daily Prophet and partly in the neighbouring buildings, too. The shoppers in Diagon, however, did not hear a thing.

“No! I won’t accept this! It was _my_ story, _I did all the work!”_ Paperwork littered the floor like cheap confetti and the editor’s favourite mug laid in pieces in a cooling puddle of tea.

“Rita,” he said with that laughably stern look of his, as if he’d ever been able to reign her in. “It’s done, we’re already in print.”

“And why wasn’t I told about this?” she snapped. She was furious, the rage burning right underneath her skin. “ _I_ exposed the boy! _I_ forced Dumbledore to hold the interview in the first place!”

“And Dumbledore asked for Leopold!” The editor paused for a moment before massaging his forehead. “Just- he’d have gone to another paper and with a story like this, we can’t afford that. Fuck if I know why he wanted Hickinbottom, but he insisted so I sent the guy.”

It did nothing to calm Rita down. If anything, it just redirected her fury towards other people, which might very well be what the man wanted. Hands balled into fists, she jutted out her chin. “I want the article _now,”_ she said, seething. “And any subsequent invites _will_ land on my desk, official or not! I’ll be there and I’ll write about it, or else I’m out!”

Which wasn’t a threat made lightly. Rita knew the kind of readership she drew for the Daily Prophet. Whenever she wrote an article for another magazine, sales skyrocketed for that issue. Which was why she wasn’t surprised when the editor gave in.

“Fine. And don’t take it out on Hickinbottom, I gave him no choice either.”

A couple of minutes later, Rita was back in her own office, the door locked and a copy of the article on her desk. _BREAKING NEWS: Potter’s Identity Confirmed! Years-Long Secret Training Regime!_

“Trash,” Rita said with a loud scoff, eyes roaming over the interview and whatever Hickinbottom had added to it. “...found early after the kidnapping incident… decided to increase the protection… Minister’s blessing… returned to Britain after the new Death Eater threat? And Hickinbottom bought this pile of dragon dung?”

The whole interview smelled of lies and deception. Fudge wasn’t a subtle man - after the Potter boy had been kidnapped, the daft man had been beside himself. Rita had just started with the Prophet during that time and she’d seen the panic. If that had been an act to deflect from the truth, she’d eat her bag.

That said, it did sound good on paper. A neat little lie that’d put Dumbledore firmly in Fudge’s good graces. Sympathy from the public as well as support for the boy. Sirius Black had given a statement as well for the print, which added more emotional depth to the whole story: a godfather finally reunited with his charge, even if said charge was now an adult. But Rita dealt in lies and slander; she knew that this was too pretty, too neatly laid-out for the average reader to eat up.

But why? What were they hiding? The question burned worse than her anger. She’d find out the truth and, for a change, wield that as her weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words:** 3267
> 
> Next chapter starts with a bit of a time skip and we finally reach the last third (and climax) of this part! Hopefully, things won't be so damn slow from now on :D


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